those who sparkle
by dayzeco
Summary: I never looked at Edward Cullen the way he looked at me. His eyes rolled past while mine danced. I never felt for Edward Cullen the way I should have. He pretended I wasn't there while I just pretended.
1. Chapter 1

those who sparkle  
>chapter 1<p>

I never looked at Edward Cullen the way he looked at me. His eyes rolled past while mine danced. I never felt for Edward Cullen the way I should have. He pretended I wasn't there while I just pretended. There were things sparkling in my mind which shouldn't have while he paraded around the room and pushed his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose or ran his palm along the back side of his head. Sometimes he reminded me of an iguana. Just a little. Those hands were the cause of his boyish good-looks destruction. He always touched his damn hair, but he also spoke with his hands. A redeeming quality. The way he curved his fingers, the shape they all made together. I wanted to paint them with full white and yellows behind them, just to showcase the Adonis position. Then, a golden sparkle would reflect the overhead lights and my dreams sailed away.

Edward Cullen was a married man.

How unfortunate for his wife to have such a husband out and about among the high school types in short skirts with high egos and even higher heels. Fortunately for Mrs. Cullen, he seemed to be disinterested in all except his job. He seemed friendly with the staff and I watched him as he presided over the cafeteria during the senior lunch when I drank my Pepsi and ate my greasy pepperoni pizza. He would tuck his hands into his khaki pockets and watch, his eyes never falling on one particular table. Sometimes he would move around through the pillars or stand in the large corridor just beside. A spectator. Never part or belonging anywhere. Except maybe my heart.

What a stupid line.


	2. Chapter 2

I found my obsession to be utterly ridiculous and tiresome. I tried to ignore him and the way my chest exploded when I thought about not being able to have him. Sickness. All inspiring sickness. He gave us a pop quiz, and I failed it. I knew the information, but couldn't bring myself to strike correctly. My hand and pencil were an angry alliance.

He asked to see me after class while others gathered their belongings so they could trudge to fourth period.

At his desk, his beautiful fingers left red ink in their wake over and over again. Mr. Cullen pushed those thick frames onto his nose and held up my fortunate mistake. "You know this material. Can you tell me why you failed?"

My shoulders answer for me.

"Don't give me that, Miss Swan. We're so close to completing this year on a high note. I don't expect this from you. You're capable of doing better."

I nod. "Yes, sir." Those words coming out of my mouth. To him. My skin crawls with delight. I want to say it more.


	3. Chapter 3

_The cow goes... moooo._

I cringe. That robotic voice rips my mind apart. I hate these days without thought or care. Pointless holidays litter my schedule. Freedom gone. I've been asked to help hide the eggs. Literally. Freedom gone. My iPod doesn't desert me as I place each colored oval in the Washington grass. It's a beacon. We should dye them green next year. For laughs.

Green. His eyes. Luminant and urgent. Powerful yet quiet, leaving me lust after his thoughts. He beckons me from current tidings. I am frozen in the verdant field with a basket of unborn. I feel dust and waves of spring fly past in glittering golds. I exist inside his optics in that moment. Washington flourish with flecks of gold in between. I want to stay there always, opening my arms in the wind. In thoughts.

My grandmother gives me a gift after all is finished, before we leave for Forks. She strokes her aged fingers through my young curls and smiles, lightening my burden of thought. "For your graduation," she says. She trembles. "I won't be able to attend."

I understand. She's nothing except tanned skin and bones, though healthy as a god could make an ancient sturdy woman. I desert my iPod to open her gift. The paper is frail and crisp. Old, sitting in her closet for years. But the gift? New. Expensive. Beautiful. Petty words to describe a wonder she's wrapped.

Words are lost. She can see it. She sees everything. Simply, "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Cold hands reach up, embracing my cheeks. "I'm proud of you."

We leave the reservation rich.


	4. Chapter 4

That week flees without another marvel. Chores from mom and dad; remaining rejects from fall needed to be raked, escorting mom to Newton's Hardware to pick another paint color for the bathroom. Again. I suggest alabaster. I get shot down. I don't know why she brought me at all. I'm not a miracle worker. I can give her colors, but not a vision. Not what I see.

Counting Crows, Oscar Wilde and Quentin Tarantino bid for the times in between.

School is a blessing. When third period finally comes I can relax. He's there. I'm there. The universe turns in balance. His hair is shorter. His wife made him cut it. I'm sure. He enjoys pulling the whipped cascade, but no more. I mourn. I complete my assignment in record time while he sits at his desk, feet kicked back. I approach. For that entire five seconds while I walk the fake white tile I wonder what I'm doing. What I'm going to say. He tosses the green apple in the air and catches it. Faux baseball.

I hand him my paper, feeling my fingers cling tight to the paper while he removes his feet. He touches the other end. Pulls. I resist. I don't want to let go. I can't. This is how we touch. This is how we connect. This mute tug of war.

"Bella?"

"Sorry."

I release. He takes.

As usual.

"How'd you do?" He whispers. His eyes scan through his black frames.

I whisper, too, keeping our conversation private. "Okay. How'd you do this past week without school? Did you enjoy your vacation?"

He smiles. "Barely a vacation. You?"

"Cow goes moo."

He looks over the paper. Beautiful alabaster teeth appear. "What?"

"That's all I heard. One of those toys that tells you what animals say when you don't even know what the animals are in the first place."

He laughs silently, his shoulders giving me action. "I thought you were about to break into song."

"You know that song?"

"I'm twenty-eight, not a hundred and eight."

I nod.

"So how was your vacay anyway?"

"Boring."

"Boring?" He marks angry happy on my paper. One hundred. I hope he's pleased. He seems so. "I thought kids liked being out."

Kids? I dismiss it and shrug.

"I'm glad to see you rising to your full potential. You're one of my best students, Bella." He looks behind me. I glance over my shoulder. No one looks up from their papers. What he's said has been a secret. "Just don't tell anybody in here I said that."

I twist my fingers at my lips and throw away the key. "I can keep a secret."

I give him my sly dimples before turning to walk away.


	5. Chapter 5

I sit in my truck at the baseball field, working my history book for answers, finding it hard to concentrate for the view through my windshield. Boys are running drills, slapping balls, catching grounders at the beckoning of one man.

Edward Cullen directs them, clapping once, twice and pointing. He blows his whistle to redirect and change it up.

I would slap balls for him.

I can't study with him there in his khakis and sky-blue button up Oxford, the sleeves rolled expertly to his elbows. He doesn't change clothes like high school boys do. He wants dust to fly on his shoes and shirt. I itch to hear his voice speak to me like before. Whispers and secret declarations. Innocent things.

Lotus Flower rotates on my iPod. I refuse that song, yanking the ear buds out and slugging everything to the opposite side of the cab. History isn't inspiring or thirsty. I exit, keeping my keys inside my pocket. I follow the fence. My fingertips hit the gaps as I step along, an animal trapped on the outside wanting in. I want to consume words and skin. Him. Dangerous obsession, I have.

I sit on the bleachers behind homeplate. No one seems to notice me, or they don't care. And I don't care that they don't care. I have no interest in holding poor boys' attentions or intentions. Edward's arms cross in front of him as he observes. Always observing, never part of. Does he even know how to play baseball? He doesn't seem the athletic type. Or is he a pseudo nerd?

He turns, catching sight of me. First time or not, he waves at my presence with two fingers. A smirk holds his mouth. I nod back, copying him.

Lotus Flower.


	6. Chapter 6

I've sent my thoughts silently through the air. Other girls caught them. I can hear them speaking at lunch, things like _he's hot_ and _too bad he's married. _I roll my eyes at their bravado. He's within earshot as he paces through the columns. He hears them, but ignores. I can barely eat my grease slice without feeling sick. He thinks we're all the same. All us stupid barely legal girls. We can't keep our hormones in control.

Angela asks me what's wrong. I tell her I'm feeling sick.

Jessica tells me to go to the nurse.

But I just need to get away from the crowd. I'm not part of them. I'm not like them.

I dump my pizza and Pepsi, walking through the open halls to the ice cream machine to snag a cold Snickers. I sit against the wall. I can't hear their words and I'm better for it. I'm not like them because I keep it secret, cherished. Our interactions belong to us. Us alone.

I pull out my iPod, shuffling a finger to Lotus Flower. Jessica and Angela question me with body language. They don't remove themselves from the herd, but simply eat gruel and wash it down with milk. Like him, I watch. My eyes stay on him longer than I should allow.

We look at each other the same time. He stops. Hands in pockets. Hair trying to be a mess. Not succeeding. It's too tame now. A foot swings in my direction. My heart swings with it.

I deposit my ear buds into my lap, ready for his opening line. He kneels several feet away. He's baring arms so close. I lavish the muscle he hides underneath. Not much of it exists and its slight definition is all he needs. All I need. "Is that an iPod?"

"Maybe."

"Don't let anyone catch you with that. They'll take it away until graduation."

"They haven't caught me yet."

"So you were at the field the other day. Do you like baseball?"

"Sometimes. Do you?"

He laughs small and low. "To be the coach, it's required."

"You don't seem the type."

His eyes. Blooming Oscars and Washington green. "What type do I seem like then?"

"The non-baseball type." I finish off my Snickers.

"Is it because I'm a chemistry teacher?"

"Pretty much."

He glances back at the grazing herd. Voices are slight. They are looking at us. It's cussed. They're whispering words cut with mordancy. When he looks back his jaw flexes under his stubble. I forget his short cascade and latch to the even shorter shadow which grows on his face. I want to feel it on my skin. I shutter when I think of it.

"See you tomorrow, Miss Swan." He rises.

"But tomorrow is Saturday."

"Come to the baseball field at two."

"You didn't even ask if I was free."

He turns for only a second and smiles.


	7. Chapter 7

Dad asks where I'm going.

"To the school track. I need to run."

Mom points out I don't like running. I shrug.

"Make sure your umbrella is in your truck. It's going to rain later."

My dad. The police chief slash weather man of Forks.

I don't know what I'm doing when I climb into my truck. My obsession has been invisible and hidden. Appearing when he wants me to pulls it from my tender wounds, gives him permission to pick whenever he likes. I debate on turning around... several times within five minutes. I don't. Cars litter the parking lot outside the field as dew litters the grass in the afternoon gray.

I see him across the universe. White t-shirt, black running pants and sneakers. Sunglasses on his nose, though there is no sun. I trod the fence to him, clinging to the metal which separates us at the dugout, non-dug out.

"You came." He smiles.

Yes. I did. Several times while walking over, in fact. The shadow on his face is more pronounced. He picks around the wounds languidly.

"Yeah." I say.

"Good. Come on in." His arm slits the gate for me. I enter the forbidden field. The animal is inside. Wanting. Thirsty and dangerous. He blows the whistle delicate and firm. "Guys! Come on in!"

They obey.

"Most of you know Bella Swan. She's one of the top students of your senior class, and she's going to be your manager the remainder of the year. Give her your utmost respect."

What?

The team welcomes then resumes. I resist responsibility and assumption. "I don't know what a manager does, Mr. Cullen."

"It's easy. You're in charge of the equipment, water, first aid."

"Why are you asking me to do this?"

"Because I know it won't affect your grades, and I trust you."

He rips the wounds apart.


	8. Chapter 8

When I dream of Edward Cullen, I dream of positions, situations, I shouldn't. My mind craves the dreams while I stumble through my day, fogged my nights with bloodshed and endlessness. I wander hopeless to books and numbing television. Drawing helps. Painting helps more, though I'm out of green. None of it cures a new hold he dug into me. Wounds are fresh, deep, sharp every time that simple gold band catches the light and shimmers.

It taunts and echos. A million mirrors in a house of no.

I hope to remain unsoiled at the end of the days practice is to take place. I finish homework in advance for him, so I may devote my attention and whatever he wishes of me. My task is mindless enough, though it's not. He's there. He trusts me. Needs me. And so I give him that. I watch him as he bats grounders to the infield, sunglasses on his nose, a hard line upon his lips. He smiles when they do well. I see it in his profile. He directs their mistakes. Never harsh. Dominant.

I melt in the cool air.

After practice, Emmett McCarty lugs the water off by himself. He has muscles and can do that sort of thing. I'm left with the equipment, though Edward helps. He asks what I think about the game tomorrow. It's away and asks if I can go.

I tell him yes.

He says, "good" and presents me with my official manager jersey.

I hold it close that night. The innocent gesture lost.


	9. Chapter 9

I have no choice but to tell my parents the truth. Where I'll be tonight, and who I'll be with. They're not happy. They yell and curse inside our tight walls. They say harsh words of bad acts I'm going to put myself in.

I tell them Mr. Cullen will be there. They don't care, though their words become less and less. Roaring lions become mewling kittens. I convince them nothing will happen. It's only an hour away. It's only a baseball game. I'm expected to go. I have responsibilities. Dad gives me pepper spray. I tuck it away.

I pass the day. Third period is the climax until the afternoon, when we board a small school bus. I sit with Edward in the front. The equipment behind us. The boys behind the equipment and whichever things need apply. We bump in unison through the paved forests and hills to our destination. Quiet rests between us. Candy Crush flies under his fingertips on his phone. I listen to my iPod. Lotus Flower over and over again. I never tire of it's melodic words.

I glance into his lap. He's on level fifty-four. He plays it a few times, out of lives, then quits and hides the phone in his jeans. Fingertips scratch needlessly at his scalp, taking product-induced hair into all directions. My insides quiver and I see he's looking at my iPod. I pull the earbud closest to him when I see his lips part.

"What do you listen to on that?"

"Everything."

"Justin Bieber?"

"I should move to another seat for that."

He laughs. "I'm just kidding. No really. I'm curious. You have it all the time."

My teeth grasp at my lower lip. I offer him an earbud in the second chorus of my new favorite song. He plugs in. Our heads almost touch and we listen to my shuffle between a thousand for the remaining thirty minutes. His fingers drum on his lap or strum the space in front in perfect succession. He mouths the words, feeling them to the core. Bites his lip. Forgets I'm there. I nod my head. Reserved. Fixated. Studying the cologned sweet sharp of the air as he moves. Flickering silently while the god of air guitar wails beside me.


	10. Chapter 10

Final score: We lost.

I text mom to tell her I'm fine and we're on the way back. The players and equipment bags loaded, we head into the dark night. Edward is on the phone with his wife. I can hear her voice, even though I pretend I'm not paying attention. She sounds young, happy, yet tired. She's still at work, too, and will make it home after him she says. _An hour before I can leave. _She works in Port Angeles and begins to tell him about her long day. She never asks about his. My heart strums my bones the way his fingers touched the air earlier when he tells her he loves her and she says it back.

I receive a text back from mom. _Dinner is in the fridge. Be sure to lock the door when you come in. Be careful._

_Ok, _I reply.

The bus isn't quiet. The boys are talking about the game and other things which I can't piece together. Someone is watching me. I feel it. I turn to Edward and he's looking down at me in the darkness. "Tough game," he says.

I agree. We talk a few more minutes about the game and the players until it falls silent between us. I want to ask about his wife. I don't know why. To feel the pain, to hold the information close to examine it later. But I don't. I don't know what to say in this dim light while he's so close. I pull out my iPod again, and offer him an earbud. He refuses.

"Tell me, Bella..." I put down my escape "...what do you want to do when you graduate?"

"That's the million dollar question every senior wishes they could answer."

"No idea at all?"

"I would like to paint, but according to my parents that's not a real job."

"Funny isn't it? Out of all the arts, painters are scrutinized the most." His voice is gentle, calm.

"Because they see something no one else sees. Painters, visual artists, are nearly half-mad. A lot are suicidal or have real issues. Believe it or not, it's a dangerous profession to want. Someone has to do it."

"Do you?"

"What?"

"No, I just...you seem to have it together. I'm sorry. My thoughts don't translate well."

I regard carefully. Ins and outs. Together or not. "No issues or madness here."

Though I feel he will be my undoing.


	11. Chapter 11

I hate the weekends. I love them all the same. All I think about are his eyes. His fingers, the way he curls them. I draw them. Their indefinable lines. My pencil shows me the way my brain can't fathom. I'm deep in their touch, their curves, their euphoria when mom calls me down for dinner.

I can't stop. I tell her I'm tired. I don't want anything. To exaggerate I take a shower, but I can't escape Edward no matter how I try. I don't want to. He's there with me under that cascade of warmth. Touching me slowly, fully, flushing me against the cold tile and singing the life into me. I rock and sway. I give. Give. Give. He sweeps the cold away. Skin is hot. Aching. Eyes closed. Mouth open. It builds. I give. Water is on my tongue, in my throat. I swallow and want to sink.

I exhaust against the tile. The smallest satisfaction takes my face. I am tired, dirty.

I crave more. His breath is in my ear, _all in due_ time. A promise to myself.

I dress. A shirt and panties. Intimate affair to finish my work on his fingers. Tomorrow I will paint them. I lay in bed to stare at my work. My fingers flutter over skin under cover. I close my eyes and begin again.


	12. Chapter 12

"You didn't tell us about being the varsity baseball manager!" Jessica shrills at the table.

"I thought I did." I know I didn't. My secret is guarded the less they know.

She scoffs. Angela smiles. "I'm so jealous. You have to hook me up with Newton."

"Just because I'm hanging out at the field doesn't mean I talk to them." I glance at Edward stalking the cafeteria. An exception to my statement.

"But you can casually bring me up in conversation."

"No I can't. I don't talk to him. I talk to Ed...Mr. Cullen more than anyone."

"Well, I'm not picky. "

"He's married, Jess." Angela turns her lips up.

Those who sparkle are off limits. I drink my Mountain Dew quietly. I make no claim to the throne I sit upon. It's not mine to boast. I keep my secret whole and golden. That's my difference.

"He's still hot."

I cringe. Peek up at him. He's looking at me, eyes falling on one particular table. Mine. He smiles. A crooked grin. Sly and easy. Friendly. That two-fingered wave shoots me. I'm hit. My breath steals. Jessica follows my eyes.

"Mr. Cullen is waving at you?" I look away as he starts to move toward us. "Mr. Cullen is coming over here." Thank you for the play by play.

He smiles over our table. "Hello girls. Bella."

"Hi," they say.

I nod. What is he doing?

"We have an away game next Friday. You're coming?"

I know our schedule. Why is he asking? He's going to ruin everything. "Yes. Absolutely." Another chance to sit with him. I soar.

He talks briefly about practice today then tells me he'll see me later.

When he leaves from the too-brief moment I'm on fire.

Jess peeks behind her, mouth open, watching as he goes. "Someone has a crush."

My eyes are wide. Horrified. My secret shrivels. I must defend it. "No I don't!"

"Not you! Him."

We watch as he walks away, khakis and all.


	13. Chapter 13

I tell Jess she's crazy. Mr. Cullen is married. The end. My fantasies are rich with his betrayal. His aren't. He's dedicated to his wife. I know. I heard them on the bus. Jess doesn't understand. She sees what she wants. That's all.

She says she'll prove it to me. Giggles excessively. Smiles more than me.

Ang turns up her lips again, and says once more, "He's married Jess."

"Just because someone's married doesn't mean they can't have a crush."

My curiosity heightens. "Why do you think he does?"

Her eyes are serious, no longer a little girl, but a woman who can decipher meaning, who's seen a thousand relationships. "He came over here to ask you a question he already knew the answer to."

We stare.

"I mean, he _knows _you'll be at the away game. I heard it in his voice. And the pointless talk about practice this afternoon? He's grasping for excuses, Bella. He likes you. When boys like girls, that's what they do. The grasp."

"Yeah...for boobs," Ang says.

"I'm not his type," I plead. "He's married. He wouldn't."

"I didn't say he would. I simply said he likes you. At practice today, I'll show you. I'll come sit in the bleachers and watch."

"You won't be able to hear what he's saying to me."

"I don't have to hear what he's saying. It's all about body language." Jess sticks her plastic spork in her lettuce.

She does what she says she's going to do. She sits in the bleachers at practice along with Angela. They watch as I haul equipment. Emmett carries the water. He pulls at his ball cap and smiles at me when I say thank you.

Edward claps at him, tells him to get on the field. He tells them what to practice, who needs to be where and do what. I sit and watch, holding my chemistry book in my lap and going over material for our quiz tomorrow.

Edward looks back and steps into the dug-out, sitting next to me. I feel him on my skin, his eyes. They glance back and forth between the players and me. "You know you're going to pass."

"Only if I study," I say, chicken-scratching a note on an index card.

"Regardless."

"Going to give me an A even if I bomb?"

He smiles. "I just might."

I'm really glad Jess didn't hear that.


	14. Chapter 14

Jess and Ang walk with me after. "Well?" I ask.

"It's hard to tell," Jess says. She holds her jacket close. The spring air is misleading. Warm. Mild. Then cool. The wind whips our hair behind us. Chills us. "At lunch, I thought something was there."

"You don't believe that anymore?"

"I need to see more interaction."

"You're blowing it out of proportion," Angela reasons. "Just leave it alone, Jess. I bet this makes Bella feel uncomfortable. Let alone Mr. Cullen if he knew what you were thinking."

"Whatever. I'm just trying to help. Now you can set me up with Mike." She works against the cold, springs her feet off the ground in small skips and holds so much hope in her expression.

"I can't make promises," I say. She hugs me and they bid good-bye. I take the equipment bags to their storage for the night. Emmett follows behind with the water. His face is covered with sweat. It curls his dark hair peeking underneath the hat. Makes him shine. I tell him thank you.

"No problem," he says. His voice is husky. I begin to turn away. "Hey." I turn. "You're in Cullen's third right?"

I nod.

"Listen, I heard that you're, like, a genius with this stuff. I need some help with the quiz tomorrow. There are some things I'm not getting."

Emmett wants my help? I want to ask who set him up to do this. We're not in the same social class, if it exists. That's the only logical explanation. But he is genuine with his request. "I...I don't know..."

"Please?"

I don't want him at my house. My parents are embarrassing. I can't go over to his. They would say no.

He sees the apprehension on my face. "I'll even buy you dinner. We can go study at the diner. It's usually quiet on Monday. What do you say?"

"I suppose that would be okay."

"Awesome. I'll be out in five minutes." He disappears through the locker room door.


	15. Chapter 15

I follow his old Wrangler to the diner. There aren't many cars there as predicted. He slings his book bag over his shoulder when he exits and waits for me while I gather mine.

"How did you know it wouldn't be busy?" I ask as we walk to the door.

"I know people."

He opens the door for me. Warm air greets us on the inside. Not hot, but nice. It takes the chill off. A female voice radiates across the restaurant and when I look up a petite woman throws her arms open. I thought it was for me, but Emmett embraces her. "Bella, this is my mom, Wendy. Mom, this is Bella."

She holds out her hand and I take it. "Nice to meet you, Bella."

"Likewise."

"We're going to study." Emmett says smiling down at her.

I can't believe a woman that small gave birth to a muscle mass like him.

She directs us to the corner booth. Way more room than we need. We spread out our papers and books. He orders a hamburger and I just want fries. Too much food will distract me from what we're here to do. He finishes in four bites then his attention is mine.

We go over atomic theory and the presentation Edward gave, including our experiment. I don't know how he doesn't understand. The sky is darkening. Customers come and go while we drink our Cokes. Mrs. McCarty brings us refill after refill and supplies more fries than I can stand. I give up. Emmett eats mine, drowning them in ketchup. I don't expect him to be like this. Nice. Smiling. He surprises me and I can finally loosen the restraint.

The door dings for the millionth time. I don't look up.

Emmett drums his pencil on his book. "Speak of the devil."

Edward is there. A form of magic. He meets me across the space, our eyes touching gently. My heart shifts. Calm to erratic. He's not alone. A blond is with him. Young and beautiful. She puts everything around her to shame in a black suit. He smiles. His eyes shift to Emmett. The smile falls. He's stepping toward us.


	16. Chapter 16

I feel under-dressed, exposed, compared to her. "Bella, Emmett. Nice to see you both." He forces a grin. He tries to hide it. It doesn't work. He slides my book toward him slightly. "Studying up. Good job."

"Bella's a lifesaver," Emmett says.

The blond clears her throat.

"Oh, I'm sorry. This is my wife Rosalie. She's a CPA in Port Angeles. Rose, this is Emmett, he's the third baseman for our varsity team, and Bella is the manager."

"Slash genius," I say. My pencil twirls in my fingers.

Edward laughs. His wife smiles. "It's lovely to meet both of you."

Even her voice is beautiful. Musical. I already hate her for being so perfect. I admire her all the same. "Don't wear yourselves out too much. Get home and get some sleep," Edward says. They say their goodbyes and take a seat across the restaurant. I can no longer see them due to the partition. It's for the best. We're not there for much longer after. Emmett thanks me and I leave, stealing a final glance at Edward in conversation with Rosalie. He doesn't look after me. I can't feel him there.

I sit on my bed and look at his hands, held up in front of white and yellow light, curved and beautiful. A tear drops to his thumb. I allow myself to feel the pain I crave. To want so hard, not delicate, is mindful. Not numbing. I'm jealous of her for touching him in ways I can't. I'm tired of wanting.

I put away his hands and fall asleep on my own. Though, sleep does not come easy.


	17. Chapter 17

I avoid him. I avoid his eyes. His direction completely. I tire of the pain and struggle to maintain the nonchalant expressions toward him. So, altogether I avoid. I spend the next few days that way, giving way for him to pick my healing wounds at practice.

He asks about my parents, already knowing my dad, he says. This doesn't surprise me. Everyone knows Chief Swan. We talk about small things concerning me. He asks my favorite genre of music. Nineties and some new bands. He grew up on that music and I had just been born. We never talk about him. I can't read this conversation. Crush. No crush. I can't tell. I'm no Jessica Stanley. Regardless, nothing will ever become of this.

I sigh and swallow. Does he do this on purpose? Does he know the effect he has on me when he stifles a grin on his perfect face? Damn.

"Are you okay, today?"

I sigh. I'm not okay. I'm not okay because I can't have him. "Just senior worries."

"You'll be fine the rest of the year, trust me. What do you have to worry about? Your grades aren't slipping in your other classes are they?"

"No. They're fine. It's just college decisions." I'm a good liar. "Friends. Prom."

"Why are you worried about prom?"

"I have to find time to get to Port Angeles to buy a dress." I have plenty of time.

"I'm sure whatever you pick out will be gorgeous."

I'm fully prepared to let the conversation roll away with the wind.

But he isn't. "Has anyone asked you?"

"Not yet. I may just go with my friends. They haven't been asked either."

He looks to his lap. His knee bounces. "Boys these days are crazy. If I was your age, I would've asked you in a heartbeat."

We catch eyes. So much for avoiding him.


	18. Chapter 18

I finish eating dinner and help mom clean up while dad relaxes in front of his favorite show. She asks about my day. The talk is casual, but I'm ready to escape to my room. I don't hear her. I can't pay attention. My answers are short, disconnected. She asks why. I tell her I'm tired.

I only hear Edward over and over again.

_I would've asked you in a heartbeat._

They're punishing. I despise yet adore those words and behind the confines of my door I allow the confusion to fall. Tears of joy. Tears of torture. There is a buzz along my skin. My thoughts ache. Him, me, our star-crossed paths. We will never be. It's not fair for him to say those things. Pick, pick, pick at wounds, moving treacherous and deep.

I undress and move under covers, finding the air more frigid with each passing moment. I no longer know what to do. Why would he say those things? I wonder if he knows my secret. Truly understands the way I feel. What if he does? I can't face him if he knows. I turn off my lamp, discerning my room from the blanket of darkness. I think about tomorrow and my classes while tears wet my cheeks, ears and pillow. Between the streams I know my answer. I simply won't go tomorrow. I won't go until I can figure out how to deal with this.

I can afford one day.


	19. Chapter 19

Mom is volunteeting at a clinic today. She says she will be home until later. One of her many campaigns to save the world doesn't include dinner for us. I'm fine with that. Dad is already gone. He works from eight til whenever. Usually getting home after I get out of school. I'll be fine here for the day. I tell mom bye. She tells me to have a good day at school and she's out the door, stringing chaos and perfume in her wake. I finish my cereal and go back to bed.

When I wake for the second time the sun is shining through the windows. I push the curtains back then check the home voicemail. Mrs. Cope's voice is nasal yet sweet, but she speaks my deception. I haven't shown up for school today. She wonders if I'm okay. I delete the message. I'm hungry. A sandwich sounds good with chips. It takes a few mins to make then I'm in front of the television.

Mindless and endless. There aren't many channels to lose myself in. Basic package. Nothing looks good except Food Network. After a few shows and how-to's later I'm foraging the pantry craving pasta.

The doorbell rings. I pause. Pulse racing. Adrenaline pumping. Body flustered. I peek out the kitchen window. It's a car I don't recognize. Maybe they'll go away.

It rings again followed by a knock. Shit. I ease toward the noise. A silouette shifts outside. The glass distorts the face and body, but there is something familiar there. I'm not sure i should be releved or terrified. I unlock and open.

I want to slam it shut. I want to scream and run away. I don't. I can't escape. I can't escape him.


	20. Chapter 20

"What are you doing here?" I ask. I fawn away from the door.

He steps forward. His hand touches the frame, leaning in with intent I don't understand. "You weren't in class."

"I wasn't in school." I frown. He sees this and withdraws. "What are you doing here, Mr. Cullen? Don't _you_ have classes?"

"I told them I had an emergency at home."

"But this isn't your home."

His lips crook. "I know that, Bella. I was concerned. I was afraid I was the reason you stayed away."

"Why would you think that?" Accurate.

"What I said yesterday...at the field. You seemed different after."

Pitter patter of rain begins to fall. I look at the once-sunny sky blooming with gray. Edward looks up, too. Drops fall on his head and glasses. His nose and cheeks. He looks back at me. His eyes ask the question.

My lips answer. "Come in."

When he steps through, I check behind him. No one else is around to see the action, or the man on my doorstep. All the evidence sits in the driveway. A silver Volvo.


	21. Chapter 21

He's in my kitchen. His fingertips swoop against the table. Languish. Curious. Drops hit the window. A flash of spring rain coming to wash away traces of us. I pull my arms around my torso. I will guard my heart that he's come to steal.

Eyes appraise that which doesn't belong to him, searching my parents' house, finding and grasping. "Cute house."

"Mr. Cullen?"

Verdant green behind black frames descend onto mine. I am frozen in a tundra of winter and new life. There is space between us, but then none at all. If he decides to stand closer nothing keeps him from it. But he doesn't. Neither do I. We're separated. Nothing lies there except possibilities yet to be spoken of, though we both want to say it.

"Yesterday didn't bother me," I say.

"It didn't?" The space closes as he takes a step closer.

"Not the way it should have, at least."

"What do you mean?" Closer, still.

I take a step back. My eyes shut for only a moment. When I open them he's far too close, but I do nothing to correct it. I want to know he can be within arm's length and not stray. I want him to know it's okay. "I mean it the only way I know. What you said yesterday at the field has been on my mind ever since."

His curled fingers reach toward my cheek. He brushes the skin on my jaw, studying what he does. I close my eyes once more at the heat of his nearness. Him: reaching out, feeling, caressing. It's real. He's real. I see and hear him swallow. A nervous ship collected there while he stroked from my ear to my chin. "What I said yesterday was a mistake," he whispers. "I should've never have said it. Do you understand?"

I want to touch him back, but the words deflate my all encompassing need. I barely nod.

"But," he continues, "it doesn't mean I regret it." His lips crook again. His other hand reaches for the other side of my face. He brings me forward and kisses my forehead. His lips on me set a fire no man can lay to waste. I try to breathe normally, but I squirm as we grow closer. He denies me. It's gentle and looks me in the eyes. Sadness? Regret? Is he taking it all back? "I never meant for any of this to happen," he says. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"It's okay. Neither do I."

A thumb brushes over my lips. He stares as he does this. I pucker and kiss the passing flesh. He breathes in, stiffens. "I have to go. Will you be at school tomorrow?"

He's at the door. I'm behind him, my hand on the knob as I stare at his wild mess of hair and black frames. My sickness has turned in my favor. "Yes. I will definitely be there."

He smiles and so do I.


	22. Chapter 22

Cat and mouse. Teacher and student. That's how others will see us. That's why I must keep my kitchen-secret guarded and locked away. Pretend it never happened, but keep it at the forefront of all things. I never see Edward in the morning on my way to first period, but when I walk through the doors from the parking lot he's there. Gray polo and jeans. Shiny shoes. Wild hair. I wither away into the crowd, slowing my walk so I may watch him in the office a little longer. He surrenders papers to Mrs. Cope, that cow as she smiles at him and watches him a little longer as he turns away. The office door opens and he's falling into line with the students as we file into our learning center. I call his name in my mind. Call for him to wait for me. Call for him to follow me to my car because I want to show him something. That something would be at my house. In my kitchen.

And he looks behind him. I pretend he hears my thoughts, but he doesn't see me. Other students tell him good morning. Tyler, the catcher, walks past, catching Edward's attention and holding it briefly. They smile. Edward pats him on the shoulder once before Tyler continues. I nearly stop at his beauty. His nerd beauty. It's all mine.

His eyes find me. Knowing. Gentle. Secret. His mouth turns up with slight. I take steps again. Breath in and out. My backpack is heavy. My feet are heavier. My heart is light. My mind, full. I am no longer my own. I belong to the past, belong to what happened yesterday all over again. His fingers on my cheek. His lips on my forehead while the rain pattered onto the earth and windows. Beauty carved into the moment we touched for the briefest of seconds. I crave it again. To tell him such a thing so plainly is too bold. I grin and tuck my chin to my collarbone. Coy, yet hard to reign. I manage my way past as he stares. I look back once. Only once. A flutter of lashes at his slack stance, though he still watches knowing he can't come after me. I turn and smile fully at the white tile below.


	23. Chapter 23

Light tilts the room. It's behind, the dark ahead. Edward motions to the board with his hands, taps across the front, unfettered, as he explains the lesson projected from the overhead. Fingers curling. Mouth moving. We're still dragging through the last remnants of atomic theory and all its connectivities. It means little. Edward could recite the alphabet, speak in tongues, dance in mute languages. I would still build castles in the air with moats around our hearts.

Although he's looking around the room, I know he longs to see me. He dares not. He places his palms on his desk. Forming a peek while everyone scribbles. I bite my lower lip. I grin a little when he turns away to continue with his lesson. When class is over I wish for nothing more than to linger. I long to hear my name on his lips, asking to see me after class. He doesn't. He's talking to Lauren, his fingers holding him over his desk calendar, captured in her question. My stomach sexes jealousy, giving birth to a knife squeezing through my innards. I no longer wish to look after him and the beautiful blond he's speaking to. Next to Lauren I'm nothing. If Mr. Cullen could like me, then he could like her even better.

I tackle the crowd to find my locker. I stare at the plethora of books stacked inside. I shake my head. I'm ridiculous if I believe Lauren could steal Edward from under me. She's on the dance team, sure, but that's it. She's beautiful, but so am I. Switching books, I resolve myself. I'm steel and flesh. Nothing can take that from me. There's always lunch.


	24. Chapter 24

Lunch is hectic. Voices scatter over the cafeteria, trays click against the tables. Jessica and Angela are discussing prom when I sit down, simultaneously scouting for burnished hair among the columns. He's not there. I relax into the chair and blot the grease of my pizza with a napkin.

"What's this about?" I ask, covering my full mouth to keep masticated pizza from falling onto the table.

"What color dresses we want." Angela smiles.

Jessica picks through her salad with a fork. "Do the boys wear matching tuxes or is that only in the movies?"

"I can ask my mom," Angela says. "She would probably know."

"You should ask her if she has any dresses," I suggest.

"I already did. She said it was nothing we would like."

I give up on my pizza just in time to see Edward walking from C Hall, where his classroom is. He's late to lunch duty. He's looking around, hands on his hips, jaw ticking as though he just ate and didn't finish chewing in time.

A hand waves in front of my face. "Earth to Bella," Jessica draws my name out.

"What? Sorry."

"Prom. Dresses. Port Angeles. Did you hear any of that?"

"What? No. No, I'm sorry." I shake my head.

Jessica sighs and leans away from the table. "What's into you? You used to be so _here_ and now you're not. Oh my God. Did you start taking drugs?"

"What? No!"

I look up at Edward. He sees me. I flutter and shy, resistant yet open to his acknowledgement. I'm careful, though. I can't let Jess or Angela know. They can never know. More than that, they would never understand.

But Jess sees what I see and her mouth opens when Edward looks away. "Is it him?" she asks.

Her eyes are heavy on mine. I refute.

"Not this again," Angela says.

"I agree."

"What?" Jess shrugs. "I'm not saying it's bad. So what you think he's hot. Every girl does. It's okay to look." Her pause isn't the end to the conversation. "I just want to know what his deal is."

Edward looks over to us again. He tries to not make it look so obvious. Jessica is on his game.

"See. He keeps looking over here."

"Jess..." I begin to reason.

She doesn't stop. "What? Mr. Cullen totally has the hots for you." The way she blurts it out turns my stomach. I feel sick, anxious.

"Jess! Stop! Do you know what would happen if anyone heard you?"

Her eyes become wide. She can't believe I'm whisper yelling at her. "Chill. Out. I'm just joking."

I lean into the table, into her because she threatens to destroy my secret like it doesn't exist at all. Darkened kitchen and forehead kisses. That secret. Our secret which is bound in rain. "No one else knows you are! What if someone walked by and heard you? You know how fast things get around here! Mr. Cullen would lose his job!"

"That's true," Angela says.

Jess looks back and forth between us. Once a trio turned duo against her non-too-obvious jokes. "Fine." She wrestles to close her chocolate milk carton, and when it doesn't bend the way she wants it, she slams it on her tray and gets up. "Fine."

She storms off, her purse swinging on her arm and her plaid dogs patting on the floor.

"Jess! Wait..." Angela calls after her, but nothing will slow the stubborn train once it's left the station.

"She'll get over it," I say. "When are we going to Port Angeles?"


	25. Chapter 25

Equipment over my shoulders, I follow the uniforms to the field. What I expect to see isn't there.

Another boy wonders what I think aloud. "Where's Coach?"

"He had a teacher meeting this afternoon," Mike says, opening the bag I just sat down.

"Do we wait?" Emmett asks.

"I don't know. Ask Bella."

They're looking at me. They expect an answer. "Run short stop drills until he gets here."

They do. I reign over a small, yet powerful army of boys in tight pants. While drills are boring, literature is even more so. I'm elbow deep in it when Edward walks into the field thirty minutes later. He's wearing sunglasses under an overcast sky, a whistle to command my minions around his neck. King and queen of the field. We rule together. The shrill calls them in. He directs and is eager to watch their progress. He pays no attention to me. I feel small and useless in the dug out. An ornament in the shade.

I keep my nose in _The_ _Grapes of Wrath_. My sadness is contained. My anger roams free. He dismisses me easily. It shouldn't bother me. That damn glitter on his finger should steer me away. It does little, like the book in my hands. I kick my feet onto the bench and lay back, holding John Steinbeck's words over my face, hoping they will fall onto me.

Edward's voice is in my ear. "Good job, Crowley!" He claps his hands and steps in the dug-out. I hear him over my head, his feet shuffling, a slight groan erupting from his throat as he sits. He's twenty-eight, not a hundred and eight. I say nothing. I do nothing except read.

"Hello," he finally says after a few short seconds of silence.

"Oh, do you see me now?" I'm nonchalant. I'm confident. I'm angry.

"I see you all the time."

"You could've fooled me." I turn the page. It's an act. I'm not reading now. I haven't since he came to the field.

"If I fool you then I fool everyone else. Switch it up, McCarthy!"

I pretend to read, adjust my bare legs on the bench, crossing one leg over my bent knee. Heaviness invades me. It's his eyes. The bench bounces. It's his knee jumping up and down.

"I can't read," I say.

The bench desists in movement. I control the king.


	26. Chapter 26

Practice stretches into early evening. Long enough for Dad to do something he never does: text. I tell him I'll be home soon. Edward tells the boys they had a good practice and talks about the game on Friday. It's two hours away. Rain sputters as I begin to pack the equipment. Light. Heavy. Pouring. We are soaking. The boys run to the school, stripping their shirts from their backs, hooting, hollering, pushing each other in the newly-forming puddles. I'm stuck dragging equipment, and Emmett has left the water this time.

Take breaths. Try to remain calm. I'll have to bring my truck down from the parking lot. I didn't sign up for this. I leave the packed equipment under the safety of the dug-out's roof. Edward runs into me when I round the corner to exit on the stairs.

"Sorry," he says, our bodies moving away from the collide.

"The equipment is going to get wet." I pant. It's not from exertion. I look around instinctively. No one is left here. No bodies or eyes to spy our interaction. He notices, too. The back of the field leads to trees. The side is an empty lot. Behind us, the school, where the army marched off into the rain.

He takes it a step further and peeks out of the dug-out to the school. I want to look for my sanity, but before I can step around him he's in front of me again. The rain surrounds us, keeps us. I smell his cologne in the close air. Spicy, velvet earth turning inside my head.

Edward's index finger picks up mine. We freeze mid-air as it runs up my forearm, this barely-there touch feels heavy. Smooth as it hits my shoulder and pushes my straying bra-strap back into place under my tank-top. He looks around again. So do I. We satisfy the urge to step closer. His palm touches my neck. Fire thrusts into me. I burn gently. Pure heroine. I lose a breath. Another hand on my waist. His eyes envelope.

"Are you scared?" I ask him.

He nods. "Yes."

"I won't tell if you won't."

"That's not comforting," he says. His grip loosens on my side. His thumb tickles my hip under my shirt. "If we're caught I would never be able to teach again. My wife would divorce me."

I cringe at the mention of consequences. "My dad would kill you."

"And that."

His lips hover so close. I tilt. He towers. I tempt. "Then don't do it."

His palm moves from my neck to my cheek. Fingers skirt the hair away from my forehead, hanging onto the damp from rain and sweat. "I'm trying." He grins, but doesn't. "This is my restraint." His lips touch my forehead, surpassing mine.

"You're not doing a good job," I say into the fresh stubble on his chin. My tongue-tip slides out to touch. I'm unsure, but I'm high on him. It just touches his skin. A moan slips under his breath. I've never done such a thing. It's instinctive. I do it again along his throat, wondering the reaction.

He moans again, shifting closer. "You have to stop, Bella."

But his voice says the exact opposite.

"Why?" I know why.

"What you're doing...that isn't good for either of us." He's panting now over my head.

I lick again. His collarbone is mine for the taking. He hums. I conquer the king. His cheek is against my hair, spiraling toward my face. The rain sounds on. Our lips are parallel, breaths hot. His fingers squeeze my waist. Fire engulfs me, wastes all other things when his lips near mine. He's slow and torturing. I'm fast and satisfying. I push my lips to his because fuck it. Our touch lasts this way for the briefest milli of a millisecond.

It gives me heat then extinguishes all I have. He pants then takes a single step away, shakes his head. "We can't. Not here."

Tense. Shaking. Mouth open. I'm disgusted with myself. I've let myself bloom before him. Unguarded. "You should've thought about that before you touched me." I disperse, allowing the rain to take me, cool me. It masks the few tears on my cheek as he calls after me.

I don't turn back.


	27. Chapter 27

There's no space large enough to take me. The rain masks for a short while before I'm under cover, gasping for breath - for the life he stole from me. That brief moment of touch weighs under my skin until fog covers the world and there's nothing except white sound and booming voices filling the sleek halls of the school. My hair is dripping. My clothes would be transparent if they were white. I feel just as naked even though they're not. Though the corridor is only filled with invisible boys, their sharp and echoing laughter, there are eyes upon me. I feel their gaze against my cover, coating me in their judgement for what I've done. He's done.

I've left my bookbag in my locker for safe keeping. My books are inside and I need them, but I don't care. I can go a day without homework. I won't suffer for it. Not too much. I pull my keys from my pocket and push the doors open and into the pouring wet of Washington. Heat flushes my cheeks against the Spring air as I run across the pavement then onto the grass. My footing is gone. It's in front and my balance shifts before I'm gone and victim to the blades below me.

I stay on the ground in the silky dirt where I belong. It's what I am.

Alone.

I stagger and fall to the arms of my truck. It's warmth and sound a comfort and luxury to my shitty day. I've forgotten my wallet and driver's license inside my bag. I hate myself. I don't want to face obstacles anymore. I've lost twice. Once to the rain, and another to Edward.

I drive home.

Alone.


	28. Chapter 28

Home is lights in the windows and the T.V. alive in the living room. I hear it from outside while trotting up. A game. Nothing I care about. It's all the same. No one loses when they're a millionaire, except the poor who bid on them. Mom is no where to be seen, but dad remarks on the hour and the weather. He says I should've called when I was on my way. He thinks I'm going to die in the five miles it takes to get home.

Dinner is almost ready, but I tell them I already ate a snack after practice. Mom doesn't like it, however she allows me to retreat without another word or suggestion of what I can do with a mound of mashed potatoes on my plate, like construct a replica of Mount Rainier. I have Goldfish in my nightstand in case I get hungry. She doesn't know that. It doesn't matter really. There's no value in nourishment when it ceases to satiate. There's no comfort in the paintings and drawings of hands under my bed, on the floor. Black and white. Saturated and pure. Pale with no comparison or care, like him.

Always missing the sparkle on that particular finger. Unlike him.

Even though there's tomorrow, my heart breaks for today.

A buzz sounds beside me. My cell lights up. Emmett wants to meet tomorrow after practice at his house for additional studying. I tell him I will ask my parents when all I want to do is refuse. Edward's face when he saw us together that day in the diner didn't read well. I don't want to scare him away...pause. That moment. The moments after. His face.

I text Emmett again and tell him my parents said yes.


	29. Chapter 29

When my feet hit the pavement, the surrounding world ceases. My thoughts of yesterday cocoon the existence of all other forms. Edward isn't there this morning. I don't see him until class and when we're there it's not us. It's us and everyone else; listening, sitting, leaving the education Mr. Cullen is giving us as it comes. It floats above us, under, but never through. I'm only awake when Washington green finds me in that bright room full of glass and charts. The touch is like him, gentle and never lasting. Yet he captures all of me, not for his words, but the way he says them. How they linger with passion and precision from those full lips, lips which thunder in the rain, in secret.

If there were a moment I could love, that second is it. My chest pounds when I think of Emmett, how I plan to use him against the man pacing in front of me. It's to claim him. That's all. When we're dismissed I shove my book and papers into my bag giving no care to organizing them.

"Bella, can you stay a minute?"

I look while swinging my bag over my shoulder. Edward stands at his desk, his fingers sliding through papers while the other hand pushes his glasses further up his bridge. He's not looking at me. He simply expects me to stay without regard or question. I step through the rows of desks and eye the door. Do I stay or flee? The room empties and I approach the door, haunted at what I should do to gain him. Stay or go?

"Shut the door, please," he says. This time he's looking at me. Dark frames. Tame hair which appears wild once more. He's been pulling his fingers through, ruffling and upset. I know, then, that he's been thinking of us, pondering, worrying over yesterday and my sudden departure. I look at the door. Black paper covers the square window. I don't remember it being there before. Not yesterday. Not ever.

The latch clicks in the frame.

"Lock it," he says.

And I do.


	30. Chapter 30

We aren't immune to outside influence. Voices filter through the closed door along with the soft shuffling of feet. He keeps his distance though we move in tandem. Magnets pulling together and forbidden to touch. "How are you today?" he asks.

I feel like laughing, shaking my head. I do neither. I nod instead. "Good." He understands. "And you?"

His smile is in his eyes. "I'm good." The silence which follows isn't. It's strange. "Bella, I want to ask you something and I want you to be honest with me. I...I don't want a bullshit answer."

"Okay."

"What do you want from this, from us?" He gestures.

Us. Unobtainable. "I haven't given it much thought." It's a lie. I want it all. I adjust the bag hanging from my shoulder. "What do you expect?"

"I don't know. To be honest it scares me."

"Scares you." I shift, wanting to break away from the pull he has. I'm drawn further in, closing the gap.

"Yeah." He lowers to his chair. "I plan. I make lists of my plans. I have my future sorted. Do you understand what I mean?" I nod. It's mechanical. "I try to stick to my lists, but _this_ wasn't planned. This just sort-of happened. My life revolves around the pieces of paper in my pocket. You're not on my list. I can't write you there, and it drives me crazy because I want to. I want to write you into them. I want to know it's sorted." He cradles his forehead in his palm.

I'm standing inches from him now. My waist equal to his beauty and darkness. "And yesterday?" I dare him to say words about it, to profess our intrigue, to fall from his mouth and tongue. I ache to touch him.

"Was foolish," he says, leaning back to catch my eyes again.

"Am I foolish?" I ask. My bag crumbles to the floor quietly at our feet. I palm the arms of his chair, bending into him until our eyes align. He wanders inside my soul. I greet him there, give him the tour. Does he know what I feel? Can I beat strong? Can I love without hope of love? Could I free myself if I must?

"No. You're beautiful, Bella, if not dangerous." He pushes me and stands, nearly towers over me. "Do you understand why I did what I did?"

"I know now. I understand. Doesn't make it hurt any less," I say.

Cool fingers brush my jaw. "It wasn't _planned_, Bella. It was unexpected and careless of us...of me."

"I know." I close my eyes and lean into his touch. The spread of his palm over my cheek, fingers in my hair and reeling me closer. It's a lie he feeds. A promise of closeness which leads to rejection. I despise the space, don't want it, but I pull away. If I want what I want then I must feed the green-eyed monster. "This is, too."

I retrieve my fallen bag. "I have to find Emmett before lunch."

"Emmett?" He fidgets. Hands on hips. No smile.

"He invited me over to his house tonight since his mom will be working."

I turn, carrying his expression with me when I go. I'm no archer, but I know the arrow I've fired hit its bullseye. I'm unsure if I regret it.


	31. Chapter 31

It's warm today. Warm enough to perspire by simple looks. The sun eventually finds me in the shade while I watch Edward pace, clap, shout toward in and outfield. There's an air around him today, a mask he wears. Our eyes don't meet until after he blows the whistle. I begin to gather the bats while the tight pants boy army fill their paper cups with water. A flicker on my arm summons me and Emmett is there, skin glistening beneath the sky we share.

"Hey, give me twenty minutes. I'll meet you up front," he says.

I nod, summoning a smile after him. His eyelashes are dark and long, his curls and forehead bond with sweat. I stare after him longer than necessary. He's tone and bulging in very appropriate places. Edward sees, setting his maroon Spartans ballcap deeper on his head until it meets his glasses. I keep stuffing the long bag until it's full. Edward begins to help as the players leave the field. When we're alone, and I pretend to barely give him notice, he digs into his khakis and pulls out a piece of paper. He isn't aware my mind already belongs to him, so he clears his throat, and I make sure he knows.

Without a word, he hands me the folded piece from his pocket. As I stretch it open he says, "That's what my day is like tomorrow."

So it is. Listed are several things he must do. His handwriting is beautiful, fluid, confident. Drop off mail at the post-office before coming to school. Lab set-up. Lunch duty. The list seems endless. Between some of the items is a quick doodle, a six-line star that I learned to draw when I was very young. I shake my head, and offer him the paper. "I believe you, Edward. I know you're busy."

He doesn't take it, and instead steps next to me, but keeps home plate between us. To a spectator we're going over tasks to complete for our baseball team or upcoming away game. An innocent exchange of words. They don't see the inner tick between us. They wouldn't see the cogs turning to keep us apart, yet winding us together.

He points to the three black stars he's drawn so carefully between the tasks. I regard them. One after third period. One during sixth, his planning period and when I'm doing free study in the library. Then another after practice. He looks at me through dark lenses, and even though it's bright and the light blinds me, I see his eyes holding out hope and waiting for me to take it. His lips tick in a small smile only I can see. "I wrote you in my schedule."


	32. Chapter 32

I think about Edward all the way to Emmett's house. I think about how I simply gave him the schedule and said 'okay' because I couldn't muster the strength to tell him how I felt about those stars. Fire swims inside my stomach because tomorrow it would be real. The confirmation in that schedule gave birth to our wanton affair. I begin to wonder if I truly want him at all. Truth is I know very little about Edward Cullen.

Once there, I text mom and tell her I'm at a friend's. I don't receive a response right away, as I expected. At least she can't say I didn't let her know where I am. I drag my bag from my truck. Emmett is standing on the worn gravel and grass drive behind his Wrangler. It seems like it's never been washed. Dirt is caked everywhere. Grass sticks to the flaps. His house is like the Jeep, though not bathed in mud or grass, it's modest and old, worn in the right places. There are sparse flowers in front where someone tended them years ago, but weeds have taken over most of the beds.

"Thank you for helping me today," he says when I begin to follow him up the tiny path to the front door.

"No problem. I needed to get out of the house for a bit."

Inside is warm and smells of sugar. There is a comfort there, the kind which lingers after someone says 'I love you'. Instantly I crave more and smile gently as I'm on his heels toward the back of the house. He slings his bag onto the kitchen counter and picks up a note next to the sink. The ancient oven springs and he pulls a plate from the rack.

"My mom made cookies," he says setting the plate down. He doesn't ask if I want one, just gives me a large chocolate chip delight.

I take a taste. "She seems sweet."

He devours his in three, nodding and saying with his mouth full, "She is. You want some milk?"

I nod.

Three cookies later, I refuse more and finish off my glass. "Where do you want to study at?"

"Living room is good, or the table."

We sit in the living room across from one another at the wide coffee table, extending our legs underneath and getting to work right away. This extension of our school relationship is easy, natural. It's nothing to work for. Emmett's wide smile is infectious. It's not difficult to see why he's so popular.

Light fades from the living room. Dusk approaches and I tell him I better get home. Dad will worry about me if he's there. I pack up and the last cookie from the plate disappears into his mouth.

"Man, I can't believe finals are in a month. We'll be free from all this." He leans against the couch.

"Are you ready?"

"To get away from here? Yeah."

"Where are you going to go?"

"Oregon."

"Any specific major?" I ask, packing my things.

"Something with sports. Helping people." He nods, affirming. There is an overwhelming sense of surety.

I leave soon after, wishing I could have Emmett's confidence, his ability to make decisions. I wish I knew what to do with my life like he does.


	33. Chapter 33

Butterflies sting. They land, grasp, and turn with flutters of pain until I can no longer bear the intensity. I vomit before leaving the sanctuary of my house, more pallid than usual. I dont look for anyone when I arrive. Jess and Ang are standing close to the cafeteria. They don't see me and I don't blame them.

Third period weighs on me until I'm there in the class, sitting, watching, admiring in his dark frames with dark, burnished hair. The blue shirt he wears, I have determined is his favorite, lends credence to his skin, his shape. He's a remarkable creature of God, or the Devil. From which? I can't decide. When everyone else packs, I linger until they're gone. He finds me in the emptiness, and the knowledge we both possess congests the void, and when I approach the door, close it, then turn to him, he's already stepping to me. The black paper conceals our secrets. The lock will guard them.

I can barely breathe through the stiff air compelling me to meet him half-way. His fingers brush my arm to my shoulder to my neck. I sigh. He solidifies against me, his lips meeting my cheek, breath hot. "I've thought about this moment," he says in my ear, "over and over again."

He presses to me again, along my jaw, my chin. Fingers knit in my hair. Hot breath fans over my face, and when I reach for his arms to feel the hard-soft display of masculinity he bears, I wither. I fall to ruin among the empire we're erecting. The woman I've always wanted to be can no longer survive in this known yet arcane world, but he anchors all possibilities to his kiss against flesh. Unspoken promises and hushed tidings when words can no longer express marry my skin when his nose brushes against mine. There is fire lingering. Heartbreak pending.

He breathes my name and ignites our effigy with his mouth, marking, claiming, and leaving carelessness in his wake where his lips find mine. All is lost. Abandon hope. Abandon reason. Give way to the sins we will commit and perish us in fire, for nothing is such as we and will never rest again.


	34. Chapter 34

Both hands on my face he pulls me into him. Our kiss is gentle, unsure at first, but rocks into bursts of confidence. Tangling, swaying, we never faulter. He tastes of strawberry balm. The kind he often uses when he thinks no one is looking. It tints his lips slightly pink. His palms on my cheeks arrest so I can never pull away. The ring on his finger is cool against my cheek. When I wrap my arms around him I no longer feel it. Fingers move to my waist, rippling against my clothes. My teeth pull his bottom lip causing him to pant. I love it. Adore it. Crave it. I keep him there, caressing his tongue with mine. He moans again because it's the first for us. We turn and I'm against the board, pinned by his waist. His finger tilts my chin, other hand caresses my side. I pray he doesn't stop. I pray for time to stand still, to absolve and surrender to our embrace. He moans and adjusts, kissing me fresh and sharp until we are no longer touching. I open my eyes and see him stepping away, shocking fingers through his hair and clearing his throat.

I don't ask questions, I simply step to and turn him around again, shoving myself against his frontal, wanting more. He whispers, "Bella." Shoves fingers into my hair and kites us around the front lab table where he often performs labs for us. I'm on display, now, under him.

He tries to pull away, but I rope my hands around his neck. "Please," I whisper.

"You have to get to class. We'll have all afternoon together." His lips are still against mine, and we draw to a close. An agreement that it will pick up where we left off.

"One more." I lean into the lab table, the black counter cool on my elbows as I rest there, waiting, eying, tempting. Eyes through those frames, he pushes them onto his bridge further then approaches. It isn't with the passion I want. It's calm, thoughtful, taking my chin and lifting me to him, touching gentle lips to fervent seduction. He's soft, full, wholesome, sweet. My upper between his, he finishes me off, but I want more. I can barely stand the ache weighing me downward.

"I'll see you during sixth," he says.

My day is bound by fog. At lunch, I look to him and he regards me with bursts of shortness. When well-earned free study comes around, I'm not sure how I will get away from Ms. Kirby, the librarian. My role there has been consistent. I decide to drop off my stuff and busy myself between the shelves until the halls are clear. While she's in the back, I sneak out and knock on Edward's door.

He opens and ushers me in, closing, locking us inside. I want to consume, devour, conquer, but instead he pecks my head and says, "I want to talk first."

What's an affair if we have to talk?


	35. Chapter 35

I sit in a front desk while he props against the lab table we slightly defiled a few hours prior. There is temperance in the way he shifts between his feet, a cognizant motion which seduces and repels at the same time. He's not my soon-to-be lover. He's my teacher, my elder, holding some knowledge I must possess in order to board this perilous train we're running alongside like criminals fleeing from some former life.

He braces himself against the counter. "Thank you for coming," he says.

My insides shrivel. This is a meeting, not a steamy affair to be consummated in the most dangerous of tidings. I look to the door. I can play that game, too. "Yeah. Well, Ms. Kirby will notice I'm missing."

He grins. "She won't."

She notices everything. I shift this time, hinting my aggravation. "What do you want to talk about?"

"This...what we're doing?"

"We're just talking," I say.

Darkness presides where his grin once perched. He moves from the table, pushing away, toward me. Butterflies return with objective movements and conjure my racing heart. We're eye-level. Voice low, deep, he says, "I mean earlier, Bella. After class. You know."

Yes, I do. I lean toward him. "Maybe I need reminding."

His fingers touch my cheek, a slight pinch. The flat of his palm. It drops and with it my anticipation he built in such a small wave. He wants to say something, but can't, or won't. He looks down.

"What?"

Shake of the head. Flicker of a smile. It's fake. Remorseful or frightened. "Why are you interested in me?"

This surprises me. Not even I'm aware of why I hold interest in this man. There is a stumbling gallop inside my chest when I see him, the quickening of adrenaline. Am I so shallow to want to be with him simply because of his unearthly beauty? I am. I'm sure he has other qualities to value, too. But, to this I shrug. "I find you fascinating." Perhaps I do.

He lifts then lowers his eyes. "I want to be honest with you. I'm uncomfortable with this, but it doesn't mean I regret everything that's happened. You're beautiful and smart. You deserve more. I just don't want you to get hurt."

I shake my head. I feel my mouth smile, open with an incredulous belief that I would be hurt in all this. Does he _want_ to inflict pain? "Why would I get hurt?"

"I'm not going to be able to be with you all the time. There will be rules between us..."

"Rules?"

"One of them being we can't have any physical contact on school grounds."

"But..."

He stops me. "It's too risky."

I'm staring at him. Anger hits my cheeks, boils my blood. "Then what's the point of all this? What's the point if we can't be together at all?" I want to hit the floor running. Wounded. Pride cut and bleeding. Why give so mercilessly then take it away? Rejection burns. His fingers take hold of mine. That cool grasp, an echo to the chilling air wafting above us, lessens the fire consuming my mind.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." Pause. He clears his throat with slight nervousness. I can tell by the way his brow dips and his eyes adjust to mine. Growing, clear, focused, bigger through the lenses, and full of curiosity. He sees me, all of me. "What are you doing this Saturday?"

I twist my fingers into his, lacing us together. It's the question I fear. The binding of raw, secular emotions from separate sources coming together for one purpose. It's the question which makes it real, even though our bindings earlier stroked the canvas. This man has the power to hurt me, to cut and injure with words or space, but what hurts more is to let go. More than a question, I fear being without our secret. I fear being without this small power I hold because Edward Cullen is mine now. "Whatever you want me to do."


	36. Chapter 36

I think of nothing more than Edward Cullen and our stolen moments. Thieves we are. Small measures of fingers intertwining when we're sure no one can see. He touches my hair, strokes it along my shoulder, a layer separating our skins. If we touch, we ignite. He's forbidden us playing with such fire.

I don't stay after class the next day. I allow him to drift without me during sixth period as well. I want him ripe during the away game tonight, a prelude to our day together tomorrow. I'm sick with nerves and stay in the bathroom until it's close to time to gather equipment. Edward asks if I'm okay and I nod with a smile. As long as the equipment keeps the boy army and the bus driver from seeing us, nothing will sour my mood. Together, we safeguard our space where we can continue our thievery. He won't touch me and I won't touch him, but that buffer between us and the rest of the world is calming.

The entire ride is full of whispers of beauty, edged with sincere questions.

"What's your favorite color?" I ask, resting my head on the seat in front of us and looking back at him.

He's sitting upright, fingers touching and puckering his full, bottom lip. I would die to kiss him now. "Red."

"I would've thought blue." I grin.

"What's yours?"

I need no time because the color is already there. "Washington green."

"Never heard of that one before." He smiles with me, and I wonder if he thinks I'm ridiculous.

The dusk turns on us, but we won the game. The victory from the army can be heard a mile away. It doesn't stop when they enter the bus. They riot with joy, impervious to what the darkness hides four seats in front of them. In the dim, Edward loops his pinky around mine, finding my eyes along the passing lights of the dying field we've conquered. This shroud is virgin and inside its blanket we covet each other in small doses of finger touches while voices carry on behind us. Beyond tonight tomorrow is waiting and I want to ask what we're doing or where we're going, but his phone buzzes with a stock ringtone. I see the name when he pulls it from his pocket. Rosalie. His wife.

His finger hovers above the display, and I know he's on the fence about whether or not he should answer. At the last second he does. I pretend to not listen, but I hang onto every word.

"Hey, Rose."

I can't hear her conversation over the boys behind us. She's muffled. I coil my arms around my stomach, hoping to contain my sickness.

"No, we're on the way home. We'll be there in an hour. We actually won." The smile is in his words, on his face. He's proud, beaming. She laughs. It's unmistakable.

"I'll see you soon."

She says one last thing, and he ends the call, shoving his phone back into his khakis. I know what he meant about me being hurt. This relationship can go either direction for him. Whether or not he sees me or his wife, he wins. Edward ends up with someone to hold him at the end of the day, someone to call him and tell him about their day. What happens to me if I'm not the one he calls or holds? I'll be alone. Rejected and forgotten while he still loves entirely and with absolution. But me? I'll have pictures in my head of our time together, paintings under my bed to serve as a reminder of what once was.

My eyes sting, fear overcoming and taking me into uncertainty. I have no control here. I can't look at him.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"I'm sorry. If I didn't take it she would've kept calling."

"Forceful isn't she?"

"Persistent," he says, but it's correcting, defending.

I turn my body from him, wondering at the infinite night beyond the bus windows. That's when I feel the warmth on my thigh and when I look down his hand is there. His eyes want to hold mine, and even though I should free myself from his stare, I can't. I'm a captive. The warmth steals my breath when it climbs higher, fingers before palm, inching. He searches for permission without saying a word. I lean back, place my hands on the seat, unlock my knees, and open.

I feel a flutter against my jeans, a pleasant torture inspiring my rich fantasies, eliciting a slight reaction in my throat. I'm unable to control myself. My hand steals a touch against the ridged material on his knee. It doesn't stay. I climb on the inside of his leg, brushing my fingertips against him. He closes his eyes, his lips parting, and I know then he feels what I feel - that charge between us, sending us back and forth on waves of pleasant light. His opposite hand seizes my fingertips, moving me away from him, but he doesn't surrender against my jeans. He moves silently against me, rupturing the possibility of freedom.

He leans toward me. It's slight, but even through the noise I hear him, as though he's screaming the declaration. "I wish I could kiss you."

We remain this way until the night forces us to part ways. He tells me to meet him tomorrow at noon a few miles outside of Forks where Quillayute Road meets La Push Road. There is a small dirt road there beyond the bend where I'm to park half-way down.

He tells me goodnight and I turn to go while he waits for the team to clear out. I want to wait for him until they're all gone, but I don't. Dad has already sent me a text asking when I'll be home. He's on the couch when I walk in, a beer keeping his company on the coffee table. I turn off the T.V. and wake him so he can go to bed. I slip under my sheets, waiting for sleep, but I'm too anxious. I think of his hands on me in the dark, the way he haunts me and I can't fight him when I'm alone in my room. I seduce myself with his fingers, imagining, pocketing until I'm rocketing from the Earth and floating in space on the edge of tomorrow.


	37. Chapter 37

I'm walking through the kitchen when I'm asked where I'm 'off to'. I expect this question, already prepared. I look at mom as she sits at our small table, a magazine spread out before her, a coffee mug wrapped around her delicate fingers. She sips quietly, her eyes falling away from me back to the fan of useless information before her. No doubt on her third cup.

"Having a girls day," I lie.

"By yourself?"

"No, with Jessica and Angela."

For a moment, there is a pass of emotion over her face and I don't think she believes me, but says, "Okay. Have fun. Call every once in a while. When do you think you'll be home?"

"Sometime later. I don't know."

I'm out the door, keys in hand, twirling them 'round my finger. My truck seems as anxious as me, roaring to the speed limit in no time. I make my way down La Push, finding solace in the morning sun flickering through the trees. Sporadic light casting, paving a way to him. When I turn down Quillayute Road, I'm twenty minutes early, but it will give me some time to calm my nerves while I wait for Edward.

If I'm not looking I will miss it. The road is barely a mark against the pavement. The weeds and brush grow around the tire path, and I know why Edward asked me to meet him here. It's a road not travelled, forgotten over time. We could be ourselves here and not have to worry about intruding minds or eyes. My heart dissolves at the gleam ahead, sitting to the side of the abandoned brush, and I wonder if I have mistaken our meeting. Maybe it's more travelled than I thought, but as I bounce along I see the car. The unmistakable silver Volvo which once sat in the drive of my house. I have no time to gather my thoughts, nor can I contain the race of beats soaring past expectation. I pull up behind him and his door opens as I push the lever into park.

He's even more beautiful than I remember of him last night. In the sun, his hair is nearly red-gold-brown. His black t-shirt against his faded jeans. The spiral of his smile as we lock sights, twirling to meet his beautiful eyes. He appears to me a dream, a sleek, intelligent version of some glorious indie rock-god from some poster I admired when I was younger. Only...he's better. He's different than the version I've imagined outside of school walls. He's not the teacher in a button-down Oxford, holding a book of chemistry in one hand and conversation in the other. He's easy, touching the ground, and at home among the wild surroundings. I can't crank down my window fast enough while he approaches. Before I can speak he slings an arm inside the cab, pulling me to meet him half-way. His fingers on my neck, the visceral touch of his mouth against mine nearly hurts and springs to life the lust I feel for him as he moves against me, never pausing, never breathing until he and I are panting and tearing at each other through the window. The hours of the night contained us when we shouldn't of been caged. The people between us deaf to our actions. There is that admission between us, coiled in our breaths and fingers, never allowing us a second to forget these stolen minutes. We pause on the high note, winding down to the moment we locked eyes the first time. He pulls away, yet places a quick touch of lip against lip once more, smiling in the seam of us.

"You're early," he says. The scent of strawberries overcome the modesty of forest and earth.

I linger on his shirt, where I grasp and hold for dear life. At any moment he could slip away. "So are you."

"I couldn't wait to see you. I thought about it all night. I left at eleven, hoping you'd show up sooner than twelve."

"I did," I whisper, "and I'm yours now."


	38. Chapter 38

He furls me into his arms, leaving no part of his embrace to the imagination. He's inside my lungs, sitting beautifully until I breathe him out. If lust has a smell, it's him. The sweet masculinity, a vile, obscene episode of my fantasies. Those arms are fantastic and strong, holding me so close I feel I would suffocate, but gladly. I allow myself one phrase I shouldn't speak: "I missed you."

I feel his smile in my hair, the unmistakable lift and pull. "Let's take my car," he says beginning to pull away. "Leave yours here."

"Where are we going?"

"Away for a few hours. I brought some food and drinks. I thought we could have a picnic somewhere. That'll give us a chance to talk."

"Talk?"

I'm reigned and flush against him once more. "Well, what did _you_ have in mind?"

"Talk," I say and lift my chin of my own volition so he'll kiss me. He does. Shortly.

His throat makes the noise I love. "I think your definition of talk versus mine is quite different."

"It might be." I kiss him with chaste on his collarbone.

"Come on," he hums, "let's get going."

He opens my door against the great grass. The interior is cool and dark, smells of leather and the cologne which wafts from some part of him. He cranks up and turns back to Quillayute. I strap myself in while he drives down the bumpy path to the smooth concrete where we soar to life away from Forks and the people within it. We're going somewhere unknown, by ourselves. The thought sends chills down my spine, radiating to my toes. I turn my knees toward him and can't help but reach out and grab his arm. He locks his fingers around mine after a final pull on the gear shift, intertwining us together, bringing my hand to his lips. The air from the dash does nothing for the heat radiating from me. The kiss seems a thank you, a promise of more to come.

"I've got something for you." He retracts from my grasp and fools with his phone for a moment, expertly keeping his eyes on the road and whatever he's searching for. "Here," he says, placing the phone back in the cup holder. Bluetooth technology appears on the dash. His fingers wrap around mine again, and he brings my hand to his mouth. Knuckles between the seam of his lips. _Lotus Flower_ begins to seep through the speakers. I'm a fool grinning uncontrollably.

"I love this song," I say.

"I know." His teeth latch onto my knuckle. It doesn't hurt, but creates the ache he intends. I pinch my legs together at the music, the feral momentary glance inside the bloom of his eyes. Edward's beauty is ethereal and timeless, perfect as he guides us through the terrain. I pass out of knowledge and lose myself for that brief second. My hand in his. A cocoon of Yorke's voice against the outline of green and gray while we pass out of existence and into our own world. I know, then, that no one in a thousand years has ever wanted anything as much as I want Edward Cullen.


	39. Chapter 39

I will take this moment to address you all who are reading to say thank you. This is my first time writing for this fandom and it seems to have very few reviewers per readership, so if you are leaving them I thoroughly enjoy being on the receiving end. Take that how you will. Thank you for your recommendations as well. Also, as it's appeared several times in the course of a few days, Bella is 18 years old, not underage.

* * *

><p>We found our footing along the narrow roads. The sun slowly passing overhead, guiding us to where we would consume the afternoon, basking in the rays of each other. I'm quite convinced if it weren't for advanced technology, we would never find our way home. Then again, taking a glance at my company, I wouldn't mind so much. We find ourselves almost an hour north-west of Forks, parking at the end of a dead street to walk over the bramble of Washington wild. We bare into an opening, a circle cast over by pines with no business at the ground. A breeze is lifting my hair away from my face and the blanket from Edward's hands. He laughs as it folds in on him, but with my help we control it's rambunctious adventures of wind-surfing, situating it over a pillowy bed of flowers and soft grass.<p>

He unlocks the secrets of the cooler he's holding onto. Chicken salad, grapes, croissants, and cookies. When I lay eyes on the drink I want to hold him. A Pepsi. "I love Pepsi," I say looking at him. He, of course, knows this, but I want him to know the thought isn't without recognition. I want him to know how much the smallest acts mean to me. He is wanted in more ways than one. "Thank you," I add.

"You're most welcome." He smiles. "I hope you like the chicken salad and cookies. They're from the diner. Usually pretty good."

"Emmett's mom works at the diner. She's sweet. If she makes the cookies, then they _are_ good."

"What's the story between you and Emmett?"

I enjoy a swig of Pepsi. As it bubbles down my throat I shrug. "I'm helping him study."

Edward places the paper plates down. He opens the box of croissants and I pluck one from it's safety net of pastry pillows.

"Is that what you kids are calling it these days? Studying?"

"Jealous?" I give him the best glare I can give. I'm trying to be humorous. I think he gets it, but he stares at the container of chicken salad for a moment too long. The humor is gone, scared away by the seriousness in his eyes.

"Maybe I am."

"You don't have to be jealous of Emmett. He doesn't see me that way."

"Do you see him that way?"

"I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" He divides the chicken between us, giving me a little more than he gives himself. The smile on his face returns. "You either like someone or you don't."

"I like him as a friend."

"So if he were to ask you to prom?"

"Have you heard something?"

"There may have been some talk in the locker room a couple of days ago. After practice. I started thinking about it, too. I began to wonder what conspired between the two of you which may have triggered it."

I think back to our small time together. At first it was my intention to cause a stir, create a rise out of Edward. Now that it's here, I don't like it. There's an uncertainty between us, a pile of bricks forming into a wall. I feel it inside my chest, across the blanket. It divides. I want to tear it down, but I shrug again. "I ate one of his mom's cookies?"

The humor spreads over him as sunlight over the meadow of flowers. He whispers my name and the breeze carries it away. I begin to eat and nod with appraisal. The chicken salad is good. Creamy yet chunky. Slightly sweet. The cookies were made by Emmett's mother. The texture is melty and crumbly. We sit in curious silence, but never removing our eyes from each other or the food on our plates. Once we finish, we pack away the things we've set out, but roll upon the blanket as children. The clouds pass in various shapes. Sunlight plays around us, through us, warming our forms as we admire the air of one another.

"Can I ask you something?" I say, just placing my head on his shoulder. His fingertips gently touch my shoulder. Our fingers mesh and tumble on his chest. I notice then his ring finger is without sparkle. I'm taken aback, yet pleased he's chosen to leave it off. To see it tortures me so.

"You may ask anything."

"And...if you don't want to answer then you don't have to."

"Go ahead, Bella."

"How we're you able to get out of your house today?"

He smiles. "Generally, I use the door."

I grin and his chest vibrates with wonderful happiness. "That's not what I mean." Our hands untangle by my doing, and I'm tracing invisible patterns on his t-shirt. "How did you get out without...your wife knowing where you're going?"

He pauses, dismissing the smile. "Every other weekend Rose visits her family in Seattle. Her dad isn't doing so well. He's been sick for a long time. She makes it a point to spend as much time with him as she can since her mom can only do so much. The doctors don't think he'll last through the fall."

"Why don't you go with her?" Why did I ask that? I'll give him ideas.

"To give her space."

"If I were her I'd want you with me all the time. I wouldn't let you out of my sight." I touch his arm.

He looks down at my placement and gives a half-smile. "You wouldn't have to." Our eyes catch. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

He pulls my hand into his, running his smooth fingers along mine."They say it's a reaction, a force which happens in your head. Turns it over, clicks in some way. A scent, maybe. There is initial attraction. We're animals after all, hardwired to breed, to continue our species from a biological standpoint. If it's not there then, we won't." I'm not sure why he's asked, or where he's going. "Maybe it's not love so much as it's lust. The need to procreate with a strong suitor. Intelligence. Equality."

I take a breath. It's hardened yet wavers. A delicate confirmation. "I agree."

"Therefore it's natural to assume we both find each other attractive, but...Bella, you make me feel different. I want you to know that. I don't know how you feel, or where you want this to go, but I don't want to hurt you. I'm afraid I will."

These words cause my stomach to turn. "Why do you think you're going to hurt me? Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because I'm afraid it's going to happen, and it's the last thing I want. From the moment I saw you, I knew there was something different about you, something maybe I only saw. True beauty. The missing piece of a puzzle I'd been trying to solve."

"You say these things, but you're scared of hurting me?"

Pause. Intakes of thoughts and breathes scrambling in the air and hanging out of balance. He can say anything in the world. Anything at all. "I just...don't want to see you upset when I have to go home every day, knowing that I won't be there alone."

And, yes...he's right. This truth is painful. It hurts knowing he's already attached, but I further torture myself. I must, because the truth, while painful, must be dealt with. With his words I nod. "I know." I ready myself for the final blow. "But, do you love her?"

As the sun dismisses us behind the clouds, and the breeze steals our breath, the answer lingers on his tongue. I see it forming on his jaw, feel the rattle in his chest, and when he says it I know I'm not prepared for the truth of it. It stings more than drowning, more than the lungful of water one may swallow when barely alive. It's a hammer hitting the nail in a coffin.

Does he love his wife?

"Yes," he says. "I do."


	40. Chapter 40

Construct between us a wall of not brick or stones, but iron and steel. It's built into the clouds only to crash onto my chest. A million smothering pieces. I'm quiet, regarding the answer and our purpose together, for which we serve none. He moves from under me, propping onto his elbow, looking into my tear-veiled eyes. I hold them back, clear my throat, soothing the ache away. They're reined and I'm not yet exposed to how deep I allow myself to be in this hole.

"I'm sorry," he says swiping fingertips along my hair, pushing it away. "See, this is what I mean. I don't want to hurt you."

"Then the real question is, what do you want from this? You love her, then why are you doing this to her? To me?"

"I don't know."

"If you loved her, you would be home waiting." I look away at the distant grass, swaying with the bare breeze. "Not here with me."

"I know, but Bella, I feel for you, too. I tried to hide what I felt. What I feel now..."

"What do you want from me? I have to know."

"Like I said, I don't know. This situation is new for me, too."

I sit up from under him. He's made my face hot, blood boil with his half-answered responses. "Tell me now, Edward. Tell me now or take me home."

"Bella-"

Just my name. My name with a sympathetic tone, begging me to understand causes me to swell. I interrupt. "No. I need to know."

"I'm not sure what I want from this. Neither do you, right? Let's just take it slow, get to know each other."

"Almost fingering me through my jeans is taking it slow?"

He hangs his head. We linger in silence until he climbs to his feet. The grass reaches just under his knees, bending as he walks through, around the spread. I hate that I've asked this question, but I don't regret it. It needed to be said. It needed the air, the confrontation, the words and fight. My position with Edward is insecure and tumbling. Quite suddenly I wish to be in my room, my face tucked into my pillow with screams erupting from my throat. I want to cry, but not here. I can't afford him that power.

With a steady breath, I stand. "Take me home. I don't want to be here anymore."

He faces me, says 'okay' then begins to gather the blanket, folding it so he may tuck it underneath his arm to carry the cooler. Leaving the meadow with our hands to ourselves is strange. Heaviness presides where happiness once strangled our minds. There is no entering again, not the way we came. We will never feel the joy that beautiful place deserves. It's tainted with my question, with his answer, with our uncertainty. Doubt and strangeness. No peace or love. The car is warm, stifling. Dark leather. He opens and closes my door, and I don't say thank you. I don't speak or look at him while he starts the car or begins to drive us home. Not when the air conditioning blows cool air against my flush skin to cool me off. No. My attention belongs to the outside of the car, the trees passing in long streaks of forest blur.

Tension is thick. I can feel his eyes on me every few minutes. Hope bubbles in my chest, curious who will be the first to break the silence. I think it should be him, but I'm not innocent. I asked the question. I expected the truth. It's what I received. I can't change his mind about his wife. There's no way to compete with her beauty and perfection. I call defeat before I even begin the race for his heart.

I give up the window and look ahead, sighing and throat burning with unshed tears. The music is soft. I can't tell what it is, so I can't sing along in my head to help forget about the moment. He holds out his hand over the center console, palm up, surrendering. Does he expect me to hold his hand after what we've said? I ask, "What?"

"Take my hand, please." It's a gentle request, soft like the music.

"I don't know if I want to."

"We're ten minutes away from your truck. I at least want to hold your hand."

"I don't know if I want to hold yours," I say coolly.

"Please, Bella. You would make me a happy man."

I look at his hand then at mine resting in my lap. "You sort-of broke my heart today."

He's defeated, lowering his offer with a sigh, placing it back on the wheel of his sporty car. Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.*

He parks beside my truck at five minutes after three, according to my cell. I open my own door and climb out. He follows me to my truck, hands in his back pockets until one strokes the back of his neck. Up then down.

"Thank you for coming out with me," he says while I'm unlocking my door.

"You're welcome." I turn and squint into the sun. The look on his face, the heartbreaking look he has. I don't want to leave him. Not on these terms. Not ever. I feel I must forgive him, or I must apologize. He's everything I want with urgency, even though he is unaware of how much I hurt inside right now and nothing he says will ever make up for it.

He shifts once. "I'm so sorry how today ended. It's not what I envisioned."

"Me either."

"And if you give me a chance I'll make it up to you. I love spending time with you. I hope you don't mind me saying that." He steps forward, steals the beats of my heart, and any hope of coming out of this alive is gone.

"You can say it," I say. "It doesn't change anything."

"I know. I only ever want to be honest with you."

I nod. I understand.

"When I asked you about love at first sight," he says, "I was talking about you. You know that, right? You've completely flipped my entire world on it's back and if I told you that I didn't want to see you tomorrow then I'd be lying. I want to see you every day." He reaches and sets his palms against my hips, anchoring himself to me in ways I crave and need. I miss his touch when he's not against me, his eyes when they're not upon me. I don't want to leave on this sour note.

"You're a beautiful woman, Bella Swan." His lips touch just under my eye, on my cheek. "I'll see you on Monday, okay? Drive safe." Once more, the touch of him on my face sends chills through me. I want to wrap my arms around his neck and bury myself in his skin, smell his cologne and feel the lines of his chest against mine. There's no other place in the world I'd rather be, but I'm solid and never changing while he moves away from me and toward his driver-side door. He looks back once, throws a small wave and he's driving away, kicking up pebbles from his back tires. The sun gleams on his roof, and I watch as he disappears onto the road back to Forks, blind to what he's done to me while I stand there next to my truck. I miss him already and I hate it.

* * *

><p>*thanks, SMeyer, for the classic line.<p> 


	41. Chapter 41

The sun in the kitchen is bright this early Sunday morning. I'm only in here because while in bed I caught the scent of bacon. It's the singular smell on Earth which can summon me from eternal sleep. My eyes are red, heavy, puffy. I've cried most of the night. Tossed the remainder. I ruined my pillow, beating it against the headboard, ripping a hole along the seam causing feathers to fly onto the floor, bed, lamp, everywhere. I'm upset I've done something so stupid.

"Good morning, Sunshine," dad says, bacon in one hand, folded newspaper in the other. "We left you some bacon. Eggs are in the pan."

"Thanks," I say rounding right for the plate. There are six strips left. I stick a piece in my mouth, holding it, savoring the flavor and scent while pouring a glass of orange juice. Mom bought the 'lots of pulp' kind. I like the 'no pulp'. She knows this. I officially hate her today. Just another strike on my list. I carry my juice and the whole plate of bacon and the rest of the eggs into my room where I don't resurface until I'm hungry again, carrying the empty plate and glass downstairs, knowing how shitty I still look in my pajamas at two o'clock in the afternoon.

Mom is sweeping the foyer. Dad is on the couch watching some game, a beer in hand. He turns around when he hears the stairs creak. "Hello again," he says over his shoulder. I say nothing, just shuffle along, emptying my dirty things into the sink. I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, poor a glass of milk, then scuffle back upstairs.

"What are you?" he asks. "In hibernation?"

I grumble. "Yes."

I hear mom say something to him or me, but I don't really care. I don't care about today. I worry about tomorrow: what he will say, what I will do, and most importantly what should I wear? Should I take time to put makeup on? I contemplate all this under the sanctuary of my sheets, taking small bites of bread, jelly, and peanut butter until it's all gone. Eaten by some monster living inside my head. I hate feeling this way. Out of control. In silent persecution. Dormant with all the feelings of some crummy, wanna-be, poor excuse of a relationship loitering over my head, a crummy excuse for lunch in my stomach.

Angela texts me, but I don't respond until nine, when I'm still laying in bed. Five hours later. I tell her I was studying and turned my phone on silent. I'm full of lies and excuses. She tells me we're going shopping for gowns next Saturday in Port Angeles. Immediately, before I respond I think of Edward, how he'll be at home with his wife this upcoming weekend. I throw my pillow onto the floor. Feathers explode.

I agree to it, truly needing a day to myself with my friends. This time I won't be lying to mom.

I'm productive before I slip off to a dreamless sleep. I decide to wear a skirt tomorrow with a tank top since the high is supposed to be eighty degrees. The Weather Channel isn't always accurate, but it doesn't matter. I search websites for hairstyles, making a plan to get up early and conquer my waves.

This, however doesn't happen. I don't hear my first alarm set at five thirty, but I hear my usual. Today of all days. Oh well. I don't care. I take my time. Fluffing eyelashes with black mascara, twirling my hair and pinning it so it's up, yet hanging slightly down. Mom tells me I'm going to be late. To soothe this reminder I inform her I'm about to leave. Yet there is a void within me, a voice telling me to stay in bed, sleep the day away. I know this voice. It's nothing to do with logic or reason. It's fear speaking through my gut and into my head, coiling my insides into submission. I lower my fingers from my hair, thinking I should stay home. If I'm here and he's there, his mind will be unsettled. He'll experience what I do. He may even come here again. I can pretend to be sick.

No. I can't allow myself to skip. We have a few more weeks left. I have finals coming up. Classes I must study for.

Downstairs, Mom is sitting at the table with her coffee. Nothing in front of her. Her eyes cast out the window to the front yard. I'm curious what she's staring out. She looks nice today. Her hair is curly with purpose and her clothes are straight and clean.

"Where are you going today?" I ask because she's never this well put together.

"Running a few errands." She turns her head and gives a half-smile. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks. So do you."

She regards herself then dismisses my compliment with a flutter of her fingers on her cup. She's not used to it. There's a vague air about her, always has been. A selfless consistency where her family and volunteer work are concerned. She never takes time to herself, never involves herself in matters more than she has to for her appearance. Today is the first day in a long time I've seen her with the slightest hint of makeup.

Outside, on the way to my truck, I fall on my ass. I wonder if I'm cursed, or if this is what people are talking about when they think of Monday. The most hated day by the swell of humanity. I've never been particular about singling out one day to be the worst, but now I must concur with the large percentage that accumulate vast memes of cats with cups of coffee, glasses, and snarls, complete with incredibly snarky, bold text.

Mondays must be the worst.

I'm late to school. I suppose it's for the best to avoid any contact with him in the halls or front office. I travel the long way to second. Forget my chemistry book on purpose, and without asking permission from Edward after he begins class, walk out the door and stay absent for ten minutes to wallow in self-pity in the girl's bathroom because he's intentionally gorgeous today in all black. His hair is perfectly coifed, and he isn't wearing glasses! Those eyes are for all the world to see, completely visible and unarmored. Fuck him. He's playing unfair.

Then again, I'm wearing a skirt.

And I never wear skirts.

So maybe we've both come prepared today. To battle our resolve against one another. Who will cave first?

When I come back into third with my book tucked into my arms, it's dark. The overhead is lit against the whiteboard and Edward's hands perch on his hips. "Welcome back, Miss Swan," he says with a dominant, teacher-like tone. "Next time you need to ask permission before leaving this classroom, especially during a lesson."

I turn at my desk, beginning to sit. "Oh, are you being a teacher today?" I ask.

His lensless eyes narrow, darken, and point words I can't begin to fathom as the class erupts with a senseless series of 'ohs'. If they only knew what this man said to me forty-eight hours ago, they would understand. But they don't. They simply think I'm being a bitch. My skin is hot with my words, his stare. He points to the door.

"Miss Swan, I need to see you in the hall."


	42. Chapter 42

He closes the dark room behind us. They can't see our interaction due to our secret-keeping black paper covering the window. He crosses his arms.

"You want to tell me what that was about?"

I shrug.

His voice falls to a whisper. "Bella, we can't do this at school. I know you're upset about Saturday, and I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do about it right now. We have to leave this shit at the door. This animosity can't exist here. You can't say things like that, challenging my authority, not in front of a full class of your peers."

"Then don't talk to me like you didn't have your mouth on mine a couple of days ago."

"What was I supposed to do when you simply walked out like that? If I let that slip then _everybody_ will be doing it."

"You hurt me," I say with a strong mouth, my voice down. "You hurt me more than anyone has ever hurt me. I've thought of nothing else all weekend. I destroyed my pillow thinking of you."

His brows push together.

A click-clatter sounds down the hall, and Ms. Johnson, a math teacher from my freshman year is rounding the corner and making her way towards us, carrying a stack of papers. Our conversation is cut short. We can't be seen like this.

"We'll talk later," he says, and opens the door, letting me in first so I may take my seat. He asks to see me after class once we're dismissed, but I don't stay. I mix myself among the other students, walking out the door. One of them. Never any different. Leaving him to suffer the fall of third to fourth alone and without conclusion.

At lunch Jessica is flipping through the pages of some magazine. An assortment of dresses situated on the shoulders of women with unachievable beauty. They're all in their twenties. Unrealistic models. Angela is leaning over her lunch, pointing at some dress when I sit with my Pepsi and pizza. Jess places a quick star next to it and creates a dogear in the corner. I think of being a star on Edward's schedule. I wonder if he's put me there today, in between his important tasks.

"What kind of dress did you have in mind?" Jess asks.

"Me?"

"Duh. Yeah. What's your body shape?"

"What?" Do I look as confused as I am?

"Like," Angela says, her eyes gently touching the ceiling before floating back down on some wave of information. "Are you an apple, pear, hourglass?"

"I know my bra size," I say.

"Not helpful. You don't know your shape?" Jess says. They stare at me for a moment.

"Average?"

She makes this sigh-fed-up noise. "For instance, Angela is petite, which I hate you for by the way, so she can wear basically anything she wants." Jessica points her pen with nonchalance while gnawing on a baby carrot.

"I'm thinking of this short, off-the shoulder," Ang says, flipping back a few pages. Her happiness is bruising my unhappy mood. "Not that one in particular, but something like it. I think it will look really good. And it shouldn't be that expensive."

"And I'm a pear. So I'm thinking anything with a big skirt will work. Lots of beading on top."

"I'm just going to try them on and whatever I like is what I'll get," I say.

But I'm lectured on how it's a bad idea, and I must have a game plan.

I am thinking of a game plan, but it has nothing to do with dresses and everything to do with securing my date for the prom. Edward appears from his hall, hands on hips, and I make it a point to ignore him, though I feel his eyes. The way my chest expands with breath tells me he's looking at me. It's like his touch, only this time there dissonance between us. It's heavy. It hurts. Practice today is going to be hard.

But I try not to think of him. I try not to think of Saturday, bent against him on that blanket, looking up to the clouds. His laughter floating against the breeze, against the grass wall surrounding us.

I try not to think of him when school dismisses and I'm hauling the equipment to the field in my skirt that I wore for him. That I wore to make him feel my pain. It seems now I'm the only one feeling it. Stupid.

I set up the bats and pull out my history book and study notes. One by one the boy army enters the field. When I see Emmett I smile. He has the water in his arms, muscles flexing under his shirt. If he asks me, I'll say yes. I silently beg him to pop that question so I can wave it around in Edward's face. He sits the heavy jug on the bench and smiles at me. Dimple cheeks and bright eyes. Sweat already pierced through his skin in the mild air. "Thanks," I say.

"No problemo," he says tugging on his ball cap to adjust the curls hanging there. "Seen coach?"

I shake my head.

"Something's been up with him lately," he says allowing water to fall into a cup.

I sit forward. "What do you mean?"

He pulls the water from his lips, catching the drops lingering on his lips with his wrist. "I don't know. He's not acting like himself." He finishes it off in a large gulp. I wonder if he ever goes to parties and drinks like that. That area of Emmett I don't know about. I don't even know if he even drinks. I'm not privy to know such information. I'm not exactly in with the in-crowd. He's an exception. "Hey, do you have a pen?"

I dig in my bag, pulling it from my front pocket. He hands me his cup. "Write my name on that, would you?"

I nod with a smile.

"Cheer me on." He winks. I feel blood rush to my face. I'm dizzy and there is an uncontrollable smile upon my cheeks. Foolish girl.

The sudden clapping causes me to drop my books for my quick start. They land in the soft dust. "Stop flirting and get out there, McCarty!"

Emmett is off, leaving me with Edward.

Mr. Horrible.

Mr. No Good For Me.

Mr. All In Black.

Sunglasses. Spartan ballcap.

He stops in front of me, bends to recover my book and notes. "Sorry about that," he says. God, he smells good. I hate him. We hate him, remember? "Let me get that for you."

He sets the book next to me, the notes on top, and sits on the other side of them. Visibly I relax. Inside I'm a coil of unsaid words and unexpressed emotion. I write Emmett's name in my neatest handwriting and even draw a smiley face next to it. I take my time, making sure Edward sees it. I set it on my right. If Emmett wants water, he has to come through me. I back against the concrete and cross my legs. I pick up my book and prop it so I can read it easily.

"Are we going to talk or are you going to continue giving me the silent treatment?" he asks.

"We're not supposed to bring our relationship to school, remember, Mr. Cullen?"

"I don't think we have a choice now. That remark you made today in class sort-of threw that out the window."

"Nobody knew. They just thought I was being a bitch."

"But you're not."

"Just your whore then?"

"Did I say that? I'd appreciate it if you didn't put words into my mouth."

He notices all the players have arrived and he has them skirmish. Normal teams. He blows his whistle. They commence. "Besides," he says, "we'd have to have sex for that. And we haven't."

My jaw falls. My mouth is open and I'm looking at him like he's just cussed Jesus. "So you're saying if we had...then I would be…"

His jaw firms. Anger whispers against his words. "No! Bella, I have never thought that about you. Ever!" His jaw relaxes. Elbows on his knees he sways away from me, forward. For the moment he sits there I wish I could take back all I've said to make this situation worse. I know my faults. "I've told you how I feel about you," he says leaning back. "If you're mad at me for telling you something you wanted to know then I can't help that. If you have no more interest in me then tell me now before this gets too out of hand."

He's turned my words around on me. Our sight is broken, giving his attention toward his players while I die beside him. How can I tell him I want him so bad, but I don't at the same time? How is that expressed into words? I shake my head, feeling my throat swell. My tears form and I'm paralyzed by what comes out of my mouth. "I don't think I can tell you how you make me feel." I tremble. This confession is real. "When I'm not with you, I think about you. I have drawings under my bed of your hands because I think they're the most beautiful hands in the world."

I swallow and watch as he leans back, his fixation before us. I look away and shake my head. I swipe the new damp from my cheeks. "Knowing that I can't have you hurts more than anything I can imagine."

His fingers peel the glasses from his face, folding them up. I cry with such softness. My tears are invisible then he looks at me. His brow folds with exhale. Truly, his Washington green is the most beautiful I've ever seen. If I were lost in the night, they would call me home. My chest clears of the resentment which balances my breath.

"Bella," he whispers, "you _do_ have me. Nothing will change this." Inhale. "Maybe right now isn't the right time. If you give me a few weeks, I can sort out any reservations you have, okay? Just...let me hope."

My resolve is still steady, and I can't fully give him myself if I wanted to, but I show a light smile against my sadness.

There is hope.


	43. Chapter 43

We burn slow and long. Shades of ivory and blooming eyes. Soft tempers and unrelenting beauty. We pass through the week without further worry, but his words keep my head. To congeal the heart of me, I pick up all simple tasks to keep me full. To not think of him or me. Us. There is an ache which can't be solved or expired. I'm holding out for his resolution. Though it's hard to refrain from reaching for him while sitting next to each other at practice. Without this, a hole has opened. Some piece of me feels hollow and leaves me wanting.

Art has helped in the past. A quick flurry of pastels or sketching overcomes this ache, but now nothing is settled. I can't help but feel more now, forever changed by his presence, knowing that when he looks at me it's not the same as before, knowing when he looks at me it's a vow of what's to come. There have been winks and small smiles. Flourishes of fingers with a sharp gaze.

Because we've whispered.

Because our lips touched.

Because we're secret.

Unforgiving and uncompromising.

All these and more.

And when Friday comes with open arms and our home game fills the stands at our field, and he's there and his wife isn't, I feel like I've won something. Though I know I've won nothing at all. I know nothing more about his home life than what we've discussed previously, and to keep my emotions where they belong, not out in the world, I've refrained from asking.

Mom and dad are in the stands, watching me work, watching me stand next to Edward and barely speak to him. And when the game is over, and we've lost, I pat Emmett on the shoulder and tell him he's played a good game. Edward will tell him differently. He has critiques which I've not seen.

Before he trudges away to the locker rooms with the others, I pull him aside and then bring my parents into the field, next to the dugout.

"Mom, dad, this is Emmett McCarty. He's our third baseman."

I don't know why I've done this. I think to give myself validation, to introduce these disparate fragments of my life together so they'll solidify. My dad gives his police chief grin, that small stretch of his lips when he's examining someone for the first time, sizing them up. He extends his hand, gripping Emmett's.

"Hello, Emmett."

"Hello, sir." He releases and takes my mom's. "Nice to meet you."

My mom smiles fully. Any woman, no matter their age would, because Emmett's smile is infectious. Once seen there's no escaping.

"You did good out there," my dad says.

"Thank you. I just want you to know, Bella has been a life saver this year. She's been helping me with my chemistry. Thanks to her I've passed my tests."

"Bella is an excellent student," I hear Edward say behind us. His hand touches my shoulder. If I could shiver I would. I've missed those hands, their weight and warmth "She's one of the brightest in her entire senior class."

"Mr. Cullen, I almost forgot you were the varsity coach." My dad smiles at him then shakes his hand. "It's good to see you again."

"You, too, sir."

"I'm going to get changed," Emmett says and begins to step away. "Nice meeting you." As he's walking away my dad remarks he seems like a nice kid.

"He is," I say.

"We won't make any tournaments this year," Edward says looking after him. "We didn't quite make it, but he's a good player."

"So you're almost done with the baseball season, huh?" dad asks.

"Unfortunately. It was nice having Bella in the last half of our year. She was a real asset to the team and I thank you for allowing her to be part of it."

"We weren't too keen on the idea at first, but considering I've met you before, I felt more comfortable with you there." Dad grins.

I throw a fit of coughs into my hand. I've become strangled on my own saliva and I'm rushing for a cup of water. After a moment I'm recovering. The moment seized me, shocked me.

"Are you alright?" mom asks, patting my back.

I look at Edward. Lips I've kissed. Hair I've pulled through my fingers.

Oh, dad...if you only knew.

The stands are clearing. I tell my parents I'm going to help Mr. Cullen take the equipment and I'll be home after. Be careful, they say and I assure them I will.

We work in silence until we begin to carry the bags. "When did you meet my dad?" I ask.

Edward half-smiles. "When we first moved here a couple of years ago he was kind enough to bring Rose and me home after our car died at the grocery store. I see him at the diner sometimes on the weekends and we talk."

"Real police work," I laugh.

We walk and his smiles remains for a moment before it falls. "Your dad is a great man. You're lucky to have him." He's serious, and the sadness in his voice causes me to wonder why I'm the lucky one but I don't ask him. "I miss you." That was a whisper between the school and field, in the middle of nothing or no one.

I'm no longer smiling because it sounded like hello, but sounded like good-bye, too. When the equipment is stored and we're no longer solitary with our words and heat, I'm walking back to my truck with regard to how the night smells of fried food and sweetness.

"Bella!" the voice echoes, falling onto me and the lot. I turn, and when I do my stomach is thrown through a loop. Emmett is jogging toward me, white shirt stretching tight over his chest, black bag over his shoulder hanging by his hip. His hair is slick with wet, dark curls hanging in his eyes. The lamps are sporadic, barely lending a glow to our forms in the middle of this lined pavement.

"Hey," I say twirling my keys and catching them. I do this over and over before he stands in front of me panting with exquisite boy beauty, so much it hurts.

He smiles. "I was hoping I'd catch you before you left."

"Caught."

"I was, um, wondering..."

Oh no. Is this happening?

"if you aren't doing anything...I mean, if you can, or want to..."

Is he really doing this?

"Well, what I wanted to ask you was, what I've been wanting to ask you for a couple of weeks now, is if you'd be interested in, um, going to prom with, with me?"

I'm on fire. My cheeks burn in this mild night of sweet air and softened questions. I tuck my hair away, looking at my feet. How do I say yes? Would I sound too desperate if I said it right away? Should I tell him I will sleep on it? Of all the things I can say, I decide to ask, "Why?"

His smile fades.

"I mean," I correct, "I just dont understand why you want to take me, is all."

"Oh." He's smiling again. "I think you're nice, Bella. You make me smile." He shifts and steps closer. His thumb hooks around the strap over his shoulder. "You're nice to be around, and when I think of someone I want to spend time with at prom, I want it to be someone I like to be around."

"You want to spend time with me?"

He nods.

I can't help the way my smile takes over, or the small laugh erupting from my gut. "I think you're nice, too."

"Is that a yes?"

I look at him in this light, his shape and height. He's tall and broad. He's admired for his kindness and abilities. Our conversations have been simple yet charming, and he makes me smile, but the charge doesn't exist. The space between us isn't pulling us together or keeping us apart. We simply are.

But he's all the things a girl can want. He's all the things I should desire, but have no interest in. He's not Edward. I nod my head and say yes. Yes I will go. He smiles and says okay and he will text me over the weekend, leaving me without a hug or celebratory moment. Just a grin to remember him while I drive my truck home, wiping the fresh tears off my cheeks.


	44. Chapter 44

I think I knew at some point - that undistinguishing line between sleep and the moment of waking - it was a dream, but as I sit here now, sunlight upon my bed, I'm confused. Thoughts spin quietly in my mind, the events from last night creeping back to consciousness. I want to cradle my head and sleep again. I need to nourish my hunger, quench the wanting thirst, but I know there's no cure for this.

My cell buzzes, Angela telling me she'll be over in thirty minutes to pick me up. I force my feet to the floor, to walk across the hall to my bathroom and into the shower, scrubbing last night down the drain. I still think of Edward talking to my parents, the greatest and worst secret of my life touching my shoulder in front of my wardens.

I'm going to let my hair air dry. I'm not concerned about the way I look. It's going to rain later. I pull on my shirt and jeans, socks and boots, grab a jacket and my cell then I'm out the door and on the stairs. Dad is at the kitchen sink, his back to me. He's motionless. I know he hears my steps.

"Where are you off to?" He turns. Red half circles under his eyes like he hasn't slept well.

"I told mom I was going to Port Angeles today."

"By yourself?" It's defensive, on the edge of some lecture I've heard about going places alone.

"No. With Angela and Jessica."

"Weren't you with them last weekend?"

"For a little while." I tuck my jacket closer to me as I see Angela's old, white Sunbird stop in front of the house. The small horn blurs into the morning, through the walls to announce her arrival.

"Alright, you got your spray?" His hand-animates the spray. I nod. "Don't be back too late, and send a text when you get there and before you leave."

"I will," I say walking out the door.

"Bella." Dad follows me out the door, traps the warmth inside. He pulls his wallet from his back pocket, flipping a few twenties into my hand. "I know your mom gave you a hundred dollar limit, but there's a little extra. You know...just in case."

Dad covers my bases, and under that cop-stache there's a smile. "Thanks." I hug him in the morning chill then trek through the yard to the car. Jessica is in the front seat, drinking a gas station cappuccino of corn syrup and flavor. It smells of air freshener and clean girl products inside, and the heat is on. School books take up some of the backseat, papers intrude my feet space. Angela hasn't always been the cleanest. I feel rude stepping all over her papers, but I'm not given much choice and she doesn't direct me to do otherwise.

"Morning," I say.

They greet me and continue their conversation about Lauren and her 'squad of whores' as Jess likes to call them. They're non-stop the entire way, on and off about various topics from school to True Blood to dresses.

Port Angeles is a little over an hour away. When we arrive at the store, the ladies are just coming back from lunch. Their black suits are either too loose or too tight. I'm not sure I trust the dress advice they seem ready to give away. I look around, my fingertips slipping through the silky materials, in and out, curious what would look good on me. This experience is new. I didn't attend junior prom because I wasn't asked and didn't feel like showing up solo. Even with dad's extra sixty bucks I'm not sure I'll be buying a dress here after looking at the price tag for some. I may be showing up in jeans.

Jess and Angela are already pulling potentials off the walls, stacking them in dressing rooms, waiting to slip into them and prance in front of a wall of mirrors.

"How's it coming along?" The short-hair girl asks. Her eyes are brown and pretty, her olive skin clear.

"Not at all, actually," I say. I don't belong here.

"Do you know your shape?"

"Average?"

"Let me look at you." She grins and pulls my t-shirt tight against my body, steps back and looks hard for curves I know aren't there. "You're almost an hourglass. Size?"

I tell her.

"I know something that would be perfect for you." She steps away and in a few minutes comes back with a thin strap aqua blue.

I don't know about it. It's low-cut. "That's revealing." I pick up the price tag. It's too much. I shake my head, revealing my budget and she says okay, taking it away.

She brings a few twenty dollars more over budget and an ugly lime. I'm ready to give up. I want to text Emmett to tell him I'm not going, but the attendant comes back with a few choices in hand. They're all within budget she says, and they're all my size. I don't hate them and decide to take them into the changing room they've designated for me. The first is black. It doesn't have any straps, leaving me to wonder how it's going to stay up and how I'm going to wear my bra. I take it off quickly and carefully drape it back on the hanger.

The second is pink. It sparkles. I model it on the platform outside, listening to the four girls tell me how it suits my skin color. Jess says it's sexy. I smile. I change.

The third looks strange on the hanger. I step in, pull it up and debate on going out. It doesn't show too much and I like that. The lace neckline cuts across my collarbone in a beautiful divot pattern. It's sleeveless, hugs my hips with it's lace overlay. I want it to be the one. I feel sexy yet subtle. I check the price tag. It's only ninety. I open the door and venture to the platform, checking the low dip in the back, exposing my skin. The attendants tell me I look amazing. Are they telling the truth, or are they trying to sell me a dress?

I call for Jess and Angela and they pop out in colorful gowns with sequins and beads. Mine has no beads. No sparkle or splash of youth. It's too sophisticated.

"Holy shit, Bella," Jess says. "I'm jealous. That dress is amazing."

"Really?" I ask and turn to look at myself again.

She nods.

"Bella, you look beautiful!" Angela says. Her hands are in my hair, tangling and pretend-pinning it to my head with tendrils hanging in my face. "You could do your hair like this, a messy up-do."

"You don't think it looks too old?" I ask. I scrunch my brows.

She shakes her head. "This is beautiful on you."

I smile a little and shrug a little. It's in my price range. Speaking of which. I turn to the attendants. "Are you sure this is the price? It says ninety." I show her the price tag. She assures me it's correct.

My eyes are in the mirror again. Curious second glances and wonderings of an indecisive girl. I try to picture myself there, hanging on Emmett's arm, dancing and sitting with my friends, drinking punch, pretending to be grown-ups. I imagine how he will look at me in this dress.

Then I'm really looking at it. The way it hugs me. The color against my skin. Red on pale. I swallow.

I know this is the one.

Because Edward's favorite color is red.


	45. Chapter 45

I've been sick. Here are a couple of updates at once for my absence.

* * *

><p>There's some comfort here, in the backseat of Angela's car, comfort I haven't felt in weeks. The warm, fuzzy, everything-is-going-to-be-okay kind. It smothers me in the sunless light and heat, listening to the voices radiate in front. I text dad to tell him I'll be home in about an hour. He doesn't respond even though he's not working today. I text mom, too, covering my bases.<p>

While Jess and Angela discuss prom and hair, my fingers slip over my screen.

_I found a dress._

_Good._

_I almost didn't. I thought I'd have to wear jeans._

_Wouldn't bother me. Save me from renting a tux. :-)_

_What color is ur dress?_

_I'll take it back then. We'll crash prom denim jackets. Dress is red._

_Dont tell anyone but i have a denim jacket. Red is one of my favorite colors._

Emmett makes me smile the way I should, the way sunshine sits upon a flower to afford a long look at life.

Sigh.

To be honest, there isn't much time left for school and though I've spent the last four years roaming those halls I've always felt separate from everything else, like I didn't belong in any part of it. I'm ready to be free, to find my way from the small town of youth to a metropolis of adulthood and bad decisions. Emmett's influence over my leave makes my chest hurt. Soon, like me, he'll be a wanderer. We'll go opposite ways, make separate, poorly-timed decisions to conflict with our lives. Maybe he'll find his calling sooner, maybe it will be me.

This youth of ours has ruled in our stead. He's found his way now, a way to live in this high school lullabye, and I've barely survived. I wonder how these forces bind us, what purpose it serves, if we're able to live through the ways we'll go. Sometimes I wish this year isn't now. I'm not sure I'm ready. I'm still lost in high school, just becoming adjusted to the surroundings.

When Angela stops in front of my house, I notice dad's car is here. Mom isn't, probably out running errands. I pull my dress from the trunk and tell them bye. I want to try my it on again. Debate on sending a picture to Emmett, but decide to surprise him the night of.

Inside, Dad is eating a sandwich with chips at the table. A beer next to him, as always. "Where's mom?"

He chews, wipes his mouth, looks out the window. Does he even notice she's still gone? "Out. She'll be back later."

I nod, turn to swing out of the kitchen, but I don't. Instead, I look at dad again, listen to the silence of the house, the absence of pointless sports talk from the TV, the crippling movement of his hands on his food. "Is everything okay?"

He doesn't look at me right away, but when he does his eyes are lost. "I don't know."

I want to ask why. I want to know what he knows, but whatever it is I leave to him. It's work, probably. His job is tough mentally, physically, takes its toll. "It'll be alright," I say while mustering a small smile.

A corner of his mouth lifts before he brings his beer to his lips where it disappears, his eyes sliding back to the window. "Yeah."

I leave him to wonder, ponder whatever it is he needs to ponder, dragging my purchase up the stairs and closing the door behind me.

Sun passes. Clouds remain. Night is the same, with chirps of insects and birds. The heart of darkness consumes the world outside my window. I'm on my bed, flipping through apps on my phone, reading a recent purchase on the Nook with money I received from Christmas. I'm not tired at midnight even though I need to sleep. I venture downstairs to make a sandwich.

Ham with mustard. A few chips between. Outside, Mom's car is still gone. My worry extends from my thoughts. I want to wake dad, but he has to get up early. I leave it alone and wander back to bed with my food.

Sunday is the same, only I'm alone. Dad left early. Mom isn't home. Still. I text her, asking her where she is. Two hours later she responds.

_At grandmas._

_Why?_

That's it. There's nothing more she has to say. Confirmation has been made. Her and dad are fighting for reasons unknown. I sit in the quiet house with my phone as company and _Sleepless In Seattle_ on TV, ice cream in hand, chips on the couch. I should study for finals but my heart isn't in it. My phone buzzes.

_Hey u wanna meet me at the diner?_

I bite my lip.

I'm not right for Emmett today, not when the balance if a fragile world lingers on my thoughts. He deserves better, deserves to smile. I don't want to disappoint him or re-think why he asked me to prom.

_I have tons of chores to finish before my parents get home today.  
><em>_If I don't then I can't go to prom._

_Sucks!_

_IKR? I need to get back to work. I'll ttyl._

I toss my cell on the couch and scoop another spoonful of melting cold from my bowl. This is my favorite part of the movie.

.

.

.

In the morning, she's still not home. Dad left early. Emptiness wanders inside our walls. It's suffocating. I can barely stand it. I leave as quickly as possible, wanting out. School isn't better. Edward patrols the halls, sending kids to class with a reminder and a smile. Our eyes touch, but I can't show my infatuation when I approach. Our time together is drawing to a close. After school has become null. Hours during can't provide the means of our words.

We stand feet from each other. This is our connect.

"How was your weekend?" he asks.

"It was okay."

Students swarm past, never around long enough to catch a full portion of our conversation. We step to the side, but remain separate. This is our disconnect. I want to feel his warmth again, his gentle touch, his lips. The green of his eyes seem to flicker.

"I have to tell you something," I say. My stomach doesn't agree, but I must tell him before he finds out some other way. "Um, Friday, after the game, Emmett asked me to prom."

The change on his face may be slight to some, but to me it drops full.

"I said yes."

He looks at the bodies shuffling by, nods. "Thats, uh, good, Bella. I'm glad you said yes. You should...I mean, you deserve to have fun."

"I just...I don't know what's going on with us. You asked me to wait, and I have."

His eyes scan behind me, beside us, over the students brushing by. Our secrets oblivious to all. "We'll talk about it later. After third."

I nod and turn away. I've waited already. I've been patient while he works it out. I'm losing track of myself with him and part of me is slipping away. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold on, but I do. It hurts, rips at the scars on my heart to walk away unresolved, still.

I've been patient this long. A few more hours won't kill me but it's harder than I anticipate, watching him while we take a final test before our exams next week. His fingers sliding on his phone while leaning back. He grins once at his screen and I bleed. Is he texting his wife? Is he happy with her, unhappy with me. I can't finish my test. My stomach revolts the idea, sending me to his desk. "I need to go to the nurse," I whisper.

His eyes convey sympathy and hard kindness. I don't understand. "Can it wait, Miss Swan? We're in the middle of a test."

My brow is hot, slick with sweat. I shake my head.

He sighs and writes a pass, handing it over. I rush out of the room. The door slams behind me, through the halls like a cannon fire of surrender. Echoes of heat wash me as I walk quickly, a tremor fills my insides. I will come undone before this is over, before this affair is complete.

The nurse makes me wait for ten minutes. My knee bounces. My nail is dying between my teeth, a victim of something bigger than I can control. When I finally sit on the table in her office, she asks what's wrong. I tell her I don't know, but I feel sick.

"Symptoms?"

I shake my head. I'm nervous and jittery, I say to her, but she doesn't care. She looks at me as though I'm wasting her time. "My stomach hurts really bad."

"I'll be right back."

She leaves me, but I don't wait for her to get back. This hag can't help me. I go into the bathroom, lock myself in a stall and sit. My forehead is against the cold wall. The shock of some undesigned realization floods and I'm leaning over the toilet, puking breakfast and anxiety down the hole.

I don't know how much time passes, when I'm at the vending machine plucking a Sierra Mist from it's place, but when I get back to class Edward says the office called here looking for me.

I don't say anything to him. I don't acknowledge his statement. I put my head down and close my eyes. It's all I can do...make everything disappear.

When the other students are dismissed I stay behind in my seat watching as they scatter into the hall. Edward closes the door, locks it then squats beside me.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"I don't know. I feel sick."

"Tell me."

"I just…" I can't say it. The threat of tears is real, but I refuse to cry. I clear my throat. "I don't know what's going on. I've been patient, you know? I think about you all the time."

"Bella," he touches my thigh, shocking me, "I'm sorry. I know this is hard. It's hard for me, too. We'll get through this."

I face him, turning into his chest and he anchors himself there. Our connection is a fire which cause my knees to part on either side of him. "Will you kiss me?" I ask. My voice barely rises to the occasion. He's unsure. I see it on his lips, the hesitation smothering his actions and words, but I wrap my fingers around his collar and resort to begging. "Please."

"Bella...I…"

"Please?"

"It's not a good idea to do it here."

I push myself to the edge of the seat, situating against his torso. His breath is heavy. Fingers explore my arms, shoulders, back until I'm sure he's going to press himself to me. The absence of his body is paralyzing, shortening my breath until I feel I could suffocate without his lips on mine, or his hands curving to fit on some part of me. "I miss you," I say again. "I feel like you're leaving me."

His grin is sad, painful. "I'm not going anywhere."

"The year is almost over."

"That doesn't mean anything. I'll have more time with you."

I look down at his parting lips. "How?"

"We won't have to be here every day. I'll have meetings after the last day, some things to finish up, but only for a week. Then I'm yours."

I shake my head. The fire building reaches my throat, stings my eyes. Tears spill and wreck my strength, ruin my resolve. "I don't know if I can wait."

He leans closer. "I won't leave you."

His lips capture and close around mine. The warmth of them contrasting against the cool drops of tears spiral me from this world, and into an existence of us. There is pain and longing fighting the tide of our kiss. Lust and heat. Passion and need trembling on our skin as we find each other again. I've missed this feeling, this spirit rocking me from my seat and into something dangerous and persuasive, more than me.

I move against him, deepening our connection, riding the heat building lower. He releases and stands, pulling me with him. A groan flutters from his throat. His palms grasp my neck. His lips hold mine, pulling and twisting together. I bite at him, but his lower lip slips away as he leans back.

He smiles and shakes a finger at me, touching the tip of that finger to my lips. One long kiss later, we're apart. I'm aching and falling, gasping and dying for the connection again. "Edward," I start.

He turns. "Bella, if you don't go now then we're going to be in a lot of trouble."

I pull my bag onto my shoulders, only stopping for one last kiss to remember him by, to make it through the rest of the day. He gives it to me. His lips are dewy, pink, and swollen, and I wonder if mine are the same.

I glance over him again before I walk out the door. He's turning away, tucking himself in his chair and scooting under his desk. I smile when I see his jeans, tight and bulging. I did that. Me. I just gave Edward an erection.


	46. Chapter 46

There is no interaction which can bring me from that moment of tide, that heart and soul of my moon, crashing onto the shores of him. Though I tire. My need is tiring. My love is rampant and when I watch him roam to and from I can barely stand to stand still.

When he looks at me with those Washington greens his soul is bare. Only I can see and there's heartache behind it. Pending heartache. Pending love. Pending sex.

"What's wrong with you?" Jessica asks. Her fork is at her mouth, but she lowers it and turns around. Edward looks away. "Bella…"

My name on her tongue is accusing, but even so I want to laugh. I lower my eyes to my pizza. "What?"

"What's going on?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You guys were totally eye-fucking each other."

"We were not."

Angela leans back in her chair. "Not this again, Jess."

"Yes, this again! Bella, what's going on?"

I fill my mouth with cheese and bread. I can't answer if it's occupied with food. A familiar face is approaching too quick to register his distance and the conversation. He has a note in his hand, a pass from his teacher I assume, and a smile on his face. He pulls a seat next to me and lowers.

"What's up?" Emmett asks.

Jess stills, stares at him with pinching brows and a paused fork. Her negative attitude is already on, he just enhances it. She asks, "Are you lost?"

Emmett looks at her and laughs. "I came to see Bella."

I grin at him, nearly choking on my lunch.

"Hey," he says.

This doesn't clear up anything for her. She's still confused. "Why?"

He ignores her. "You excited for next weekend?"

I wish I had choked on my pizza. I haven't told Jess and Ang about Emmett asking me. Now I've withheld information. Important girl information, at least what they _now_ know about, because I'll always have to deny Edward. Emmett is safe ground.

"What about next weekend?" Jess asks.

"Prom." Emmett smiles, dimples showing, eyes twinkling under the bright lights. He's adorable and boyish. I can't believe he wants to go with me. I can't believe he's brought it up in front of my friends. He looks away from her, back at me, scooting his chair over a little bit more. Our shoulders touch. I feel his warmth, pleasant and drawing.

I look at Jess, weighing her reaction. She's upset. "I was going to tell you," I say. "I was going to tell you last weekend, but it didn't seem like the right time."

"It's okay," Angela says.

"Do you want to come over tonight? I thought we could study a little and watch a movie after."

Jess crosses her arms. "Yeah, Bella. He wants to study and watch a movie."

"I've been helping him with chemistry," I say with a sternness I didn't know I could muster.

"Chemistry?" A threat of humor drips from her lips. I want to smack her. "That's appropriate. You know, since you like _chemistry_ and all."

I kick out at her and strike Angela. She yelps an ouch.

"I should probably take off," Emmett says and leaves my side. "So, how about it?"

I nod with a grin. "Yeah. I'll meet you at your car after school."

"Cool. See you then."

He's off, heading in the direction of the office. I look up where Edward stood minutes prior, but find an empty wall in his place. He's abandoned this scene of woe, as I wish I could do, but now I'm face to face with an angry estrogen mob of one. Angela doesn't appear to care, but Jess is a different breed of girl. All-knowing, suspicious, jealous.

I don't want to look at her, but her fury is hot on my skin. "I was going to tell you about it," I say.

"When? When you showed up with him?"

"Today, maybe." I hope to reason, but with her there's no such thing.

"It's not hard to figure out why she didn't. You're asking her a million questions, Jessica. It's none of our business anyway."

I thank Angela silently, taking a small bite of my pizza. My appetite wanes.

Jess shakes her head. "I don't know who you are anymore, Bella. First, Mr. Cullen, and now Emmett McCarty." Her lips purse as she leans back. "You've got all the boys under your thumb, hm?"

"Jessica. Stop," Angela says.

"Wonder how that happens? Getting a lot of practice on the field after school?"

I want to wrap my hands around her throat and scream in her face. My stomach turns. Skin flutters. I don't know why she's doing this. Jessica used to be my friend, but there's a wall building. Each word is a heavy stone set in cement. I look at her hard, beautiful face. Envy doesn't suit her lines. I'm assuming it's why she's saying all this. Envy.

"You don't know anything, Jess. Emmett and I are just friends." I remove myself from the table.

"Funny. You didn't deny Mr. Cullen."

I give momentary pause then turn. "Because I shouldn't have to." My heart pleas to run. My mind is telling me to remain calm. I walk away, seemingly unscarred from her hurtful sling.

But the conversation lingers on my shoulders all day. I cry on the way to Emmett's, but clear myself of any emotion before arriving at his place. His mom isn't there, but the scent of food is. She made brownies. The fudgey kind. I want to live here.

We sit in the living room floor. Our arms drape over the coffee table, our books open and revealing, the plate of brownies in the middle.

Emmett drums his pencil on his book. "I'm sorry if I caused trouble for you at lunch."

"No, it's okay. It wasn't you. Something has been wrong with Jess lately. She's been acting weird."

"So you didn't tell them about us?" His dimples are full-on splendor.

I laugh a little, a laugh of ignorance. "I didn't know there was an us."

"I'm a little wounded by that, Swan."

"You said you wanted to go with me because you enjoy my company, not because you like me...like that."

"How much clearer did you want me to say it? I thought when a guy asks a girl to prom it meant something more."

I glance at my lap. "Not always. I mean, _I like you_ probably would have helped a little." My lashes bat, my eyes bouncing to and from him and my book.

He's staring at me, smoldering my resolve. My heart tumbles and this boy is slowly killing me. It's torture. I'm pulled toward him then drawn away. Still, an emptiness waits to be filled. His pencil is on his book. He moves from under the coffee table, around it, towards me on all fours, crawling.

He sits up on his knees and leans in without a hint of confusion or hesitation. Soft, cool lips touch my cheek. My mouth lifts with a smile as he sits upright. "I like you," he says.

His fingers smooth hair behind my ear, his shoulders giving a movement as he chuckles a little.

"See?" I ask. "Was that so hard?"

He shifts between my lips and eyes. A hard swallow causes his apple to bounce. "Not as hard as this..."

His face is at mine, lips hovering above, tingling. He smells of sharp cologne or body wash, but it's soft, too, like he's worn it for a couple of days without reapplying.

We kiss gentle. One-dimensional. Straight as an arrow with no flare.

He pulls away, tongue flicks over his bottom lip. "I'm sorry," he says.

"You kiss me and say sorry after?" A single chortle. Reassuring, I hope.

"No, you're right. Sorry. I mean! Sorry for saying sorry." He doesn't know what to do now. His lips glisten, his chin touches his chest while he stares at his fingers. I never imagined Emmett being like this. This boy is so sure of his plans, so confident when he first moved in for me, but now he's unsure. Is it me? Is there something wrong with me? I have to fix this. If he doesn't look up it's going to be strange between us. If he doesn't look up, if I don't do something, we end right here. I feel it.

I face him. "You don't have to be sorry for anything." I press my palms into the floor, lifting off my knees and into him to catch his lips with mine. I work to move him, to keep him from being stiff, but he's a tree. He's not pliable. I remove myself, reposition and wrap my arms around his neck, pushing him to the carpet and cradling his side, allowing my head to lay on his arm. We smile when we fall.

He's undone this way, forced to move. I'm on my back and he's leaning over my torso, kissing me with a strange gentleness I didn't expect. It's chaste with little tangle, careful and guarding some innocence from either him or me. I'm not sure which, but I don't care. It's sweet and I feel safe here, my head on his arm, his mouth fastening to mine. I close my eyes, lost in some forest of unsure surety, of breath and dim spice. We linger on the crest of wonder and discovery as his hand slides over my stomach, fingertips pressing me closer to him. And he feels good, this hard marvel of boy. So good I want to be part of him, wanting him to be part of me. I can smile when we're done, when I get home, tomorrow at school. We can look at each other without fear, but I begin to dissipate. I uncoil from this cord he's wrenched from me, my body beginning to silently reject. I gasp and he stops.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No." It's me. It's me and him. It's so right, but it isn't. "You didn't." I push to sit and he moves away, but keeps close, pitching my fallen hair over my shoulder. "I just remembered...what time is it?"

We both pick up our cells. They illuminate different screens, but show the same time.

7:00

"I should probably get home," I say. "I have some things to do tonight."

"Bummer. No movie, then?"

"Raincheck?" I give him hope. He takes it with a smile.

"Deal."

I gather my things and head for the door where he spins me and kisses me once. Smooth, cool, light. I can't help the lift of my lips against my cheek, it stems from him. He tells me he'll see me tomorrow and I agree, wondering all the way home if he'll want to continue seeing me after school is done. Am I a simple relationship, a fling? Or are we concentrate, permanent, strong? I want to know, need to know, because this won't end well for me. I can't have Emmett and Edward. I can't have both. I know this. What sucks is I don't know which one wants me more. It's selfish of me.

Emmett is what I need.

Edward is what I want.

Emmett will never be Edward, and Edward can never be Emmett.

Emmett is safe, and Edward is dangerous. Dangerous for all parties involved. I shouldn't want him like I do.

When I get home, Dad is there, but nowhere to be found. I assume he's in his room. Mom isn't, but I text her, asking her when she'll be coming home. Right away she responds that she doesn't know. _I need time_, she writes.

_Whatever u and dad are fighting about u need to work it out. its not going to be fixed if you ignore each other_

_i know_

It's a generic reply. She knows, but I don't think she cares. Cereal for dinner I guess. Again.


End file.
